Desperado
by Teanni
Summary: Snape survives Voldemort's attack, but he's only got dumb luck to thank for that and a certain Mr. Longbotton. Fate is cruel. Confined to his sickbed, he has to suffer the presence of an obnoxious young woman who feels nothing but hatred for him. Snape/OF
1. The Man Who Couldn't Cry

**Disclaimer**: This story has been written out of fan-appreciation. I own nothing but the characters I invented (clearly not Snape, Harry Potter, Dumbledore ecc.) and the poor excuse for a plot I patched together.

AN: _The lyrics as well as the title of this story derive from the fabulously melancholic Johnny Cash song "Desperado". And of course, I can't claim Oscar Wilde's brilliance for myself. The story Abby reads from, is "The Happy Prince".__**antisocialite**__! You certainly don't deserve water and mouldy bread for this one ;) I'd offer you champagne and cake instead..._

Many thanks to my brilliant beta

_Don't your feet get cold in the winter time?  
The sky won't snow and the sun won't shine  
It's hard to tell the night time from the day  
You're losing all your highs and lows  
Ain't it funny how the feeling goes away?_

Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?  
Come down from your fences, open the gate  
It may be raining, but there's a rainbow above you  
You better let somebody love you, before it's too late

He inhaled. Instantly the smell of disinfectant invaded his nostrils. Somewhere between the state of waking and sleeping, his keen mind had jumped into action, frantically trying to gather information about the situation he was in. He took another breath, slowly, almost cautiously. He felt … pain and relief. It meant he was still alive.

Now wait a minute. Alive? He was actually surprised to discover that apparently he had survived the Dark Lord's wrath. Surely it must have been dumb luck. Yet there he was, his heart still beating out a faint but steady rhythm, his lungs stringing together a seemingly endless cycle of inhales and exhales, while every bone in his body was aching. Pain - it was there with every breath he took. Whenever his rip cage expanded there were was a sharp stinging sensation and when he tried to swallow his throat felt like it was on fire.

Pain was nothing new to him. Like an old companion, it had accompanied him over the years, so that he had become something achingly like an expert on pain. He was aware it came in many varieties and that sometimes the bodily wounds healed quicker than those of the soul. While others shrunk away from pain, it was something he could hold on to, the only fixed point in a situation that was so far unexplored.

His brain registered more and more information. Apparently an IV-drip was running into his forearm. It felt unpleasant, but not more so than the bite of an overgrown mosquito. He didn't care to open his eyes. At this point, it was already enough having to work through the fact that he was still alive and feeling less than jubilant about it.

What was the last thing remembered? He closed his eyes even tighter, retreating into himself, searching his consciousness for memories. The last thing he remembered was bleeding to death while the Potter boy stared down at him with wide eyes. In retrospect, it had felt slightly ironic that he should be the last thing he saw in his earthly existence. The whole world seemed to evolve around the infamous Mr. Potter after all. However, in all fairness, he had to concede that the black-haired Boy-Wonder-Who-Lived-And-Lived probably wasn't to blame for everything in the end. The happenings this insolent child had so often been caught in the middle of, and sometimes even arrogantly instigated dated back to a time long before his birth - a time, when his parents had still been students at Hogwarts. _School days, school days. Dear, old golden rule days…_His choices were all made now and regrettably most of them wrong.

A bitter smirk played around the corners of his mouth. Ultimately his death would have been pointless, but which death actually made sense nowadays? Only the young died heroic deaths. Middle-aged sods like him…Well, they just died plain normal old meaningless deaths, because they knew better. Idealism became somewhat elusive from a certain age on.

He heard the rustle of fabric. Being quite sure he hadn't moved, he concluded that he wasn't alone in the room. Maybe it was time to open his eyes after all. The first thing that came into view was his own arm that looked paler and thinner than he remembered. He felt strangely indifferent discovering that. The dark mark was overshadowed by a nasty purple bruise. There had been a time when nothing had been able to overshadow it, but now it was just a faded, nostalgic memory. He closed his eyes again, feeling exhausted.

"I think he's awake," he heard a female voice say. As far as voices went it was probably not disagreeable, but right now any voice would have echoed painfully inside his skull like fingernails screeching on a blackboard.

A shadow fell over him. An unfamiliar scent invaded his nostrils: expensive perfume, powdery sweet, almost sickeningly so. "I'm going to call a nurse," the voice said after a long moment of hesitation. He could feel the woman's eyes on his face and frowned in displeasure. Her presence was barely tolerable to him.

Unexpectedly the pain intensified, washing over him like a wave. Before it had been bearable, but now that every sensation intensified tenfold, his skull was threatening to explode. He wanted to scream, but could not. There should be sounds coming out of his throat, but all he could hear were some desperate, strained gasps. His cheeks felt wet. He was crying, probably for the first time in years, but at this point he was beyond caring. His body was pain, his mind a red foggy cloud.

"Restrain him," another voice ordered, suddenly sounding close by. A lot of different faces hovered over him, but he was not able to make out one of them clearly. They briefly emerged from the foggy blur that was his vision, then disappeared back into it. He shook his head over and over again, instinctively guessing what was about to happen. No! No! No! No! Someone touched his arm. A firm but gentle grasp around his wrist, a brief pointless struggle, followed by the faint sensation of a needle breaking his skin. After that everything slowed down peacefully. Sounds got softer to the point of almost being muted and fast movements unfolded in slow motion, as he gradually drifted off into dreamless slumber.

"This is an outrage!" she hissed at the young healer, while two nurses scurried around the man's sickbed in the background. One was eyeing the IV-drip critically through which the Healing Potion was dripping into his arm, while the other was taking the man's pulse. The young healer was slightly out of breath. He was in his late-twenties and probably straight from Merlin's Medical School or some other place. Being inexperienced as he was, the woman's sudden outbreak was momentarily overwhelming him.

"I'm sorry, Miss Priestley," he started.

"It is not Priestley. It's Carter," the woman cut in, her voice high-pitched and shrill, thanks to the emotional upheaval she was in.

"Miss Carter, if you will kindly tell me what's the matter I'll do my best to help in any way I can," the young man suggested, trying to be particularly polite in order to not enrage her any further.

"I'm surprised you should have to ask. My aunt's coma is the result of a Death Eater attack. I find it somewhat inconsiderate that you should choose to put her in the same room with one of them." Her green eyes glared at him in disapproval. Her hands were slightly shaking. Upon noticing it, she balled them into fists.

"Please, Miss Carter. You must calm down." He looked around helplessly searching for something or someone to rescue him from this situation. His eyes landed on the silver clipboard that hung from the bed end of Miss Carter's aunt. He grabbed it, holding it between himself and the woman like a shield. "Miss Carter, may I call you Abigail?" he asked, having caught sight of her name as his eyes nervously skimmed over the patient's history.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary," she answered flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He was momentarily dumb-struck by her response. "Miss Carter, that man is not just any random Death Eater. Have you bothered to read the papers lately?" He was being to get irritated himself. "That's Severus Snape." The doctor motioned at the patient in question.

Abigail turned to take a brief look at the man on the hospital bed behind her, then focused her attention back on the young doctor "So?"

"He worked for Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix," he explained exasperatedly.

"Oh, sure! You should have told me sooner. That makes it all better now," she remarked sarcastically.

The young man sighed. "Well, if it's any consolation to you, I'd vouch for him. He's perfectly safe. Besides you see what state he's been reduced to. How much a threat can he be under this condition?"

"What do you think? Just as much as any unconscious Death Eater can be. So he's practically as harmless as a kitten," her voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Alright, I see that there's no reasoning with you," the healer raised his hands defensively.

"There will be if you transfer my aunt to another room."

"I'll see what we can do about it," he strategically failed to mention, that at present St. Mungo's was packed and the chances of getting her aunt another room were at present that of a snowball in hell. The war had just come to an end. There were many injured and even more on the verge of death. He had more important things to care about than resentments and hurt feelings.

She bent over him, staring down into his face. Her eyes were not gentle. They took in every flaw, every tiny imperfection.  
Most people looked peaceful when they slept. Their masks slipped, revealing who they truly were underneath. It was like a quick look into the past that allowed a glimpse at a much younger and innocent version of the sleeper. But this man? His face was a mask even in sleep.

His hooked nose was the most dominant feature of a face that exuded an air of arrogance and severity. The two deep lines around his mouth probably weren't there because he was such a humorous person and enjoyed a hearty laugh. She could practically imagine that mouth sneering at her derisively. The complementary frown, which she supposed came with it, was probably to blame for the deep crease between his eyebrows.

Her eyes settled on his throat that was so neatly wrapped in bandages. They needed to be changed. Tiny red dots were forming on the crisp white cloth, expanding and darkening ever so slowly. For some reason, she could not explain, she reached out her hand as if to touch his cheek. Would his skin be warm or cool? Her fingers hovered over his face for a moment indecisively.

She started violently, when suddenly his hand shot up and wrapped around her wrist. His grasp was firm, but not brutal. She hadn't expected him to wake up. He had been out cold since that incident a few days back.

Their eyes met. One eyebrow rose almost derisively as he regarded her unblinkingly. Gazing into his black eyes was strangely unsettling, but she held his gaze without backing down, even though she felt like a mongoose sitting in front of a poisonous snake.

"You're one of them," she said finally, amazed by the calmness of her own voice. With one energetic tug she managed to free her hand.

His hand sank down on the blanket treacherously slowly. Unable to speak, he continued to stare at her, seemingly completely unimpressed by what she had just said. Then finally - a slow nod, as if to signal her that he had understood.

"They," her voice was almost a hiss when she said that word, "nearly killed her." Abigail's eyes automatically wandered over to her aunt's sleeping form. He cautiously turned his head to follow her gaze, mindful not to rip open his wounds again. There was a spark of recognition in his eyes when they settled on the older woman's face.

She was watching him from the corner of her eye, never leaving him out of sight. "You know her? No wonder. Everybody does." Her mouth was set in a bitter smile.

"But that's probably why…" She fell silent for a moment, struggling to keep her emotions in check. Her sadness only fuelled her anger, which was somewhat counterproductive, because she was trying hard to remain civil.

"You can imagine I'm not particularly thrilled to find you here, even though the doctor tells me you're the exception from the rule, a living paradox, so to say. The one Death Eater in the entire world who can be trusted. You must excuse me, if I don't share his enthusiasm," the mocking tone of her voice was hard to miss.

She fell silent again, regarding him taxingly, as if she was trying to figure out whether he was or threat to her or not. After awhile she seemed to have come to some kind of conclusion because she averted her eyes to stare at the polished linoleum floor instead. "I've read up on you. Your biography isn't exactly trust inspiring, but that Potter kid sure thinks you're some kind of hero."

His mouth contorted into a bitter smirk, which didn't escape her notice. "My thoughts exactly," she commented his actions. "Let's set things straight. I don't pretend to know you, but even if I did, I suppose we wouldn't become the best of friends."

The expression on her face changed. The fake calmness that had been there before was eclipsed by an angry frown. She leaned in closer so that they almost came nose to nose. He regarded her evenly for a moment. Up until now she had only been just some annoying woman whose aunt he had the misfortune of sharing a room with. She hadn't mattered to him, because all she had been was just another nameless face, but unfortunately she seemed to be set on making this personal. She was forcing him to look at her, to perceive her on a level that exceeded the mere acknowledgement of her existence. His eyes wandered over her face trying to catalogue its features. Oval face, high forehead, small chin, snub nose, arched eyebrows, green eyes…

To her surprise, her sudden proximity seemed to make him extremely uncomfortable. His nostrils slightly quivered as he inhaled the scent of her perfume again. Warmth radiated from her and seeped into his skin. It was an unfamiliar feeling that unnerved him greatly. Unable to hold her gaze any longer, his eyes soon wandered here and there, looking at anything but her. His obvious discomfort gave her the kind of reassurance she needed to say out loud what lay on the tip of her tongue.

When she spoke again, her warm breath tickled his skin. Her voice was low; almost a whisper, but he heard it well enough. "For now let's just say I'll have my eyes on you. If anything goes wrong…if you and your Death Eater friends even do so much as touch a hair on my aunt's head…" The rest of the sentence hung in the air unfinished.

"I may be just a simple woman, but don't underestimate me." She gave him one last lingering look, before she moved away abruptly to get up.

Her sudden departure left him wondering whether he had just been imagining things. Yet, the spot on his bed where she had just sat was still warm and her threat still echoed in his ears. To his own surprise he had to discover that he took it quite seriously.

Her voice ripped him out of dreamless slumber. Unlike the last time he had heard it, it wasn't loaded with aggression. It was soft and kind, which led him to the conclusion she probably wasn't talking to him.

A conversation with him was rather one-sided these days anyway. The healer had informed him that Nagini's attack had severed his vocal chords, making it impossible for him to speak until his wounds had mended themselves. Currently they were administering him Vox-Reparo Potion, which they hoped would do the trick. He had read about it, but it was still in its early experimental stages, so he didn't get his hopes up.

"Seriously, I can't understand why you like this story so much. I swear every time I read it, it brings me to tears," Abigail said, obviously talking to her aunt.

He turned his head uncomfortably to look at her. She was sitting on a chair next to her aunt's bed, holding a worn leather-bound tome in her hand. Her hands were nervously fingering its binding as if running her fingers over its smooth surface was providing her with some kind of comfort. Every now and then she adjusted her glasses. They were dark-framed, rectangular and gave her a rather bookish look.

"They say that on some level coma patients are able to perceive what happens around them, so maybe you'll be able to hear my voice. I know that this is childish…I do, but I have to at least try, don't you think?" She paused as if actually waiting for the unconscious woman to answer. _Silly girl!_ The only thing to be heard was the occasional dripping of his IV. It was the kind of silence that could probably become maddening on the long run. Having himself endured it for hours, he knew what he was talking about. He wished she would continue talking as well. To his relief she finally did.

"I knew you'd eventually come to see things my way. Well, I'd better start reading then," she cleared her throat. The rustle of turning pages could be briefly heard, then her surprisingly even voice filled the room.

"_High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt._" He was too bored to fake disinterest. This sterile little hospital room didn't provide him with too many distractions, so he listened intently as she read, soaking up every word. This was the only entertainment he had had in the last couple of days and he was utterly thankful for every second of it.

He felt strangely touched by this melancholy story. It was a story about self-sacrifice and self-less love. He didn't understand much about life, but those two concepts were familiar to him. The suggestion that at the end of one's earthly existence there would be a reward for the things one had done, however, was something that made him frown. It seemed unlikely he would ever be pardoned for what he had done, though it had all been for a greater good. The end justifies the means and what not…_Bollocks!_

The sound of the chair, screeching over the floor as she got up ripped him out of his reverie. She kissed her aunt on the forehead as she usually did and turned to leave. The steady clip-clap of her high-heeled shoes announced her departure. She faltered when she passed his bed.

"I did not read to you," she finally said abruptly. Her voice quivered ever so slightly, when she spoke. She was sniffling a little. Whether she had been crying or not was at that point relatively unimportant to him. For some reason he was deeply offended by her comment. His only means of revenge was nonverbal nowadays. He decided the best way to deal with this would be by glaring holes into her retreating back.

After she was gone, the unbearable silence enveloped the room again. He turned his head to regard this person lying in the bed next to him. All she was to him was some elderly, silver haired woman. To the rest of the Wizarding World, she was Miriam Priestley – a celebrity. The Squibbler, The Daily Prophet, practically every newspaper, had already written about her in the course of years. Her well-known face that was usually smiling down cheerfully from book covers was now blank and unglamorous. It was practically impossible not to know who she was. Miriam Priestley, mahatma of spell research and development, proud authoress of various "Defence against the Dark Arts" tomes. She didn't look like much of a legend now; as a matter of fact she looked every bit her age, every wrinkle, every fleck on her skin pronounced, thanks to her sickness.

He was in desperate need to find something to occupy his mind with. It wasn't like anybody was going to come to visit him anyway. Nobody cared about him enough to see how he was. All he had to look forward to was another long, long afternoon. So when he spotted the leather-bound book lying on the table next to Priestley's bed, it was like a silver lining. All he had to do was get up and take it, but who knew whether he was actually ready to undertake such an ambitious endeavour. It would have been so easy if he just had his wand. A simple "Accio book!" would have sufficed. Well, too bad! He didn't have his wand and attempting anything like wandless magic was out of question in his weakened state. There was no use crying over spilled milk.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The hospital gown was barely covering his knees. They looked bony and white, not like the last time he had seen them. His trust in the functionality of his legs was somewhat shaken, but the alternative of suffering more boredom, wasting time staring at the ceiling, was not really an option. He'd rather lie around on the floor like a beetle on its back than endure another minute of this.

To his own surprise he managed to wobble over to the table and retrieve his quarry without any major incident. It only took about half an hour. Sure, there was the occasional slipping, stumbling and nausea, but nothing he couldn't weather. In the end he sank back into his bed exhaustedly, but with the book in his hand. He spent the rest of the afternoon leafing through it, devouring every word written on its yellowed pages.

In retrospect, he probably should have never lamented the lack of company, because he got it much sooner than he wanted. The next day, Harry Potter came to visit. Fortunately the high-pitched squeals of delight the nurses were giving off at the sight of him afforded him an advance warning, so he could fake being fast asleep in time. He could hear a chair being drawn next to his bed, followed by a long-drawn exhale. Luckily Potter had enough sense not to try and wake him. His endurance was quite surprising. After one hour he was still there.

"Is he always like that?" Potter finally whispered at a passing nurse who had come to fuss over Mr. Priestly.

"Yes, I dare say he sleeps quite a lot. At least he always does when I come in," she said in a friendly tone.

Inwardly Snape was snickering evilly. That was because she was almost as annoying as Potter. She was always bothering him, offering to fluff his pillow, asking whether he enjoyed his lunch and what not, which was an extremely stupid thing to do, seeing that he couldn't answer.

"Maybe I should leave," Potter said regretfully.

"So soon? You've only just arrived."

"I'll return." It sounded like a threat to Snape's ears. The noise of the chair being dragged over the floor announced Mr. Potter long longed-for departure. He heard his feet treat over the floor. Obnoxious rubber soles. What else?

The door opened. "Oh! Sorry," a well-known female voice exclaimed. It was that woman again. Apparently it was already time for her daily visit to her aunt. "I didn't expect you here. You're Harry Potter, right? Abigail Carter. Nice to meet you."

Now he had a name to go with that face. Maybe he could now stop calling her "that woman" - or maybe not if she continued to be that exceedingly obnoxious.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Carter. You're not in by any chance related with…"

"Miriam Priestley, yes," judging by the tone of her voice she was smiling.

"Oh, for a moment I thought you would say Snape," Potter's tone was suspiciously neutral.

"No," she said coldly. Her monosyllabic response was speaking for itself.

"I take it you don't like him," Potter observed.

"Was that so obvious?" she asked, slightly embarrassed.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry then."

"No problem."

"Alright," Potter briefly paused, "It was nice to meet you, Miss Carter."

"Abigail," she offered.

"Abigail. But only if you call me Harry."

"Alright."

"Fine."

"Goodbye then."

"Bye. See you around, I guess."

"Yes, I suppose so," he heard an unmistakable smile in Potter's voice. A few steps, then he stopped again. "I'm sorry if this is a bit forward, but I just I have to ask…How can you dislike someone who isn't even able to speak?"

"He's a Death Eater," she said as if that alone was self-explanatory.

"I see, but given his history don't you find that a little, I don't know, prejudiced?"

"Maybe, but anybody in my position would be a little sensitive when it comes to Death Eaters," the tone of a voice was a warning not to approach that subject.

"How so?" Potter still wasn't much for subtlety obviously.

"I have been on the run for the last two years. I'm what they call a Mudblood, you see. I own a bookshop in Diagon Alley. It's been closed in my absence. 'Colliding Worlds'? I don't suppose you've heard about it. We sell Muggle literature as well as spell books, biographies and anything else ever published in the Wizarding Community."

"Actually, I have. A friend of mine likes to shop there. Hermione Granger?"

"Of course, Hermione. Say hello to her from me. She's such a love. I hope she's well."

"She is."

"That's good to hear." An embarrassed pause ensued, as wasn't uncommon in a conversation between two relative strangers.

"About Snape…"

"Yeah, what about him?" There was a hint of irritation in her voice.

"I'm aware he doesn't seem like the nicest person." She let a muffled chuckle. Snape was mildly offended. "It's easy to dislike him," oddly enough Potter jumped to his defence. "I did for the longest time, but you should bother taking a second glance."

"Why should I?"

"Snape kept me safe all those years at Hogwarts. He put his neck on the line for me over and over again and I didn't exactly repay him kindly."

"Why would he do such a thing? From what I read on the papers it was quite obvious he disliked you," she enquired curiously. Snape could practically imagine the frown on her face. He only wished Potter wouldn't answer her question. Of course, when it came to Potter, all wishing and hoping was for naught.

"He may have…maybe he's still disliking me even now, but he didn't dislike my mother."

"Oh," she said. Quite obviously she had understood the rather unsubtle subtext.

"Yes," Potter said.

"Thanks," Abigail said after a while.

"What for?"

"Just for sharing."

"It wasn't that big a deal."

"Well…"

"Alright."

"See you around."

"Yeah, bye." Finally the door closed behind Potter. The nurse had snuck out at some point during the conversation between Abigail and Harry, so there was only him, her aunt and Abigail in the room. He heard her inhale and exhale slowly purposefully for awhile as if she was trying to calm herself, then she walked over to sit next to her aunt's bed and from there everything went its regular course. Except before she left she walked up to his bedside and placed the book she had read from before on his bedside table.

"To keep you company. I know you took it last time…I expect it's less trouble like that," she said. She was gone before he could open his eyes.

After a week they suddenly came up with the idea of giving him quill and parchment so that he would at least be able to communicate. The reason it had taken them about a week to figure that out wasn't thoughtlessness. It was just that their patient didn't seem to be particularly talkative.

Since most of his broken bones and bruises were starting to heal, he spent considerably less time sleeping and more being bored. Naturally he was thankful for Abigail's visits, because even though she was not visiting him, she still provided him with some kind of distraction during those endless days at St. Mungo's. Whenever she ran out of words to say to her aunt, she would whip out some book or another and start reading from it.

Not all of them met his taste, some were rather flowery and girlish, but as she had said before, she wasn't reading to him, so he didn't complain. Whether they appealed to him or not, they all managed to draw him in and allowed him to leave behind this dismal room to which he was confined to, be it only for a time as short as an hour.

For some reason - maybe it had been Potter's words - she was now making a habit out of leaving the books on his bedside table before she left, so that he would be able to read them whenever he liked.

"Do you even have a look at them?" Abigail asked when she laid down the latest book next to his bed. She looked at him expectantly as if she was actually waiting for an answer. Oddly compelled to justify himself, he impulsively reached for quill and parchment.

His handwriting was regular, like something out of a printing press and rather old-fashioned. "I didn't merely have a look at them, I've even read them," the paper said. He had had to sacrifice most of his trademark sarcasm to conciseness, but still some of it had managed to seep into the short note.

"I hope you enjoyed them," she said rather impersonally.

With fascination she watched as his hand scrawled out another sentence on the paper as if of its own accord. "They were satisfactory."

"Good. Well, alright, I'm going to leave then," she announced and turned to leave, but was stopped by his hand on her arm. She looked down at him questioningly. He quickly removed his arm, before he hurried to scribble something else on the piece of paper.

"I'm tired of this. Why don't you finally ask?"

She alternately regarded him, then the paper with a frown on her face. "Ask what?"

This time he refrained from writing anything. It wasn't necessary. The look on his face spoke volumes. His eyebrows were raised sceptically and his mouth was curved in a mocking smile.

"Good," Abigail said, trying to keep her voice even. She had indeed wanted to ask this the minute she saw the dark mark on his arm. "Did you have anything to do with what happened to her?"

He turned his head to regard her aunt for a long while, then finally shook his head.

There was suddenly a lump in her throat. She believed him, when he said he didn't have a part in what had happened to her aunt, but his hesitance implied he had a hand in many other things that were equally terrible and revolting. Abigail slowly took a step back, but for some reason she didn't leave. Maybe it was only because she was afraid to turn her back on him.

"Did you enjoy it…the things you did?" Abigail asked when she had found her voice again. Involuntarily her mind flashed back to the day they had found her, starved and desperate. Like vultures they had played with her. She had been weak - too weak from running to even hold her wand right…They had been circling her, drawing the circles closer and closer. Their faces had been smiling, while she had been crying and begging for mercy in vain.

He set the tip of his quill on the parchment hesitantly, then he finally wrote with a certain vehemence. "I don't enjoy anything."

She was taken aback by his unexpected admission. For awhile she did little but gape at him wordlessly, at least until the last vestiges of her manners resurfaced. "I'm sorry," she finally managed to get out, not knowing what exactly she was sorry for - the fact that she had been less than polite or that he apparently was a very sad and profoundly unhappy person.

"I neither need nor want your pity," his writing was imprinted deeply into the sheet.

"Good, because I'm not going to pity you," she informed him curtly. A long pause followed. She could feel his eyes on her. Was he trying to chase her away with stares? That had stopped working with her round about 5th grade.

Her eyes fell on the book that was lying on his bedside table. It was something familiar. Some sort of safe haven in this grotesque situation. "This is one of my aunt's favourites," Abigail told him, changing topic deliberately. What she had just learned was already enough to digest for one day. "Take good care of it. I want it back tomorrow."

"The Vox Reparo potion should have worked by now. Have you tried speaking yet?" the young healer asked somewhat exasperatedly.

He shook his head. No, he hadn't. He hadn't felt compelled to do so up until now.

"Well, maybe you should try now," the other man suggested. "We want to know if it's had at least some kind of effect."

Snape nodded slowly. Though he didn't want to admit it, his voice was his only vanity. Nobody had ever told him he was handsome and the daily glance inside the mirror had driven this reality home quite vehemently. His voice, however, was something other people had occasionally praised, calling it silky, even mesmerizing. Over the years he had learned how to use it in his favour to make students tremor and intimidate opponents.

He liked his lips nervously, cleared his throat, then took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. "I…" he was surprised to hear his own voice again. It sounded strangely unfamiliar, but then again he hadn't used it in quite some time. "It did have some kind of effect alright. You should tell your potions maker to make it more potent. It took about eight ingestions for it to work. Was he afraid of getting the ingredients wrong and killing me accidentally?"

"So it worked," the healer remarked dryly.

"Very belatedly," Snape added for good measure.

"After the kind of injuries you suffered, it's a wonder it's worked at all," he noted something in Snape's patient history.

"So how long do you intend to keep me here after I've regained my voice?"

"Frankly, Mr. Snape, you shouldn't take this so lightly. It's a wonder you're still alive after all. If Mr. Longbottom hadn't found you when he did…You still have to recover. You suffered extensive bleeding, several broken rips and fractures, couple of severe haematomas…I wouldn't be comfortable releasing you just yet."

"Fine," Snape answered darkly, trying to come to terms with the fact that he had been saved by none other than Neville Longbottom. The universe seemed to have a rather dark sense of humour.

TBC


	2. Take Me As I Am

**Disclaimer**: This story has been written out of fan-appreciation. I own nothing but the characters I invented (clearly not Snape, Harry Potter, Dumbledore ecc.) and the poor excuse for a plot I patched together.

1. The Man Who Couldn't Cry

AN: A big thanks to my beta **antisocialite**! You've been great - as always.

_Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.  
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.  
And how else can it be?  
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.  
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?  
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?  
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.  
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.  
__**From "The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran **_

"Hello," Abigail greeted him good-humouredly, when she waltzed inside the room. She was in unusually good spirits today.

Snape just nodded in response to her greeting as was usually his custom. "Good day to you too," he said with a certain amount of reserved politeness, waiting patiently for her reaction to his words.

Over the past two weeks he had learned that she was quite an emotional person, though she tried to keep up the façade of a person that always kept her cool. "You can talk…" she remarked excitedly. Judging from what he knew about her, she didn't like him much, but she still managed to be genuinely happy for him upon hearing about his recovery. It was just the kind of person she was.

"Yes," he said matter-of-factly. Why she was fussing about something minor like this was beyond him.

"Wow! That's a big deal. Aren't you…I don't know…happy about it?" she asked walking up to his bed.

He shrugged his shoulders. "It's a pleasant development."

"A pleasant development?!" she repeated his words somewhat disdainfully. "So how come you don't sound pleased?"

He didn't respond. As expected he ignored her question. She didn't call herself beat yet, however. "It's okay to be happy about something, you know," Abigail shot him an odd look that clearly told him she thought him to be rather ungrateful and, above all, insufferable.

"I've enjoyed the book you gave me," he abruptly changed the topic.

She blinked, looking at him somewhat confused upon that sudden twist of conversation. "I didn't expect you would. I don't know a lot about you, but I didn't assume you would enjoy reading some of a new-age-author."

"Is he now?" he frowned, eyeing the book suspiciously.

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, fortunately he was subtle about it."

She threw him a lopsided grin, which was clearly meant to be understood ironically. "Most definitely! Did you read that part about Joy and Sorrow?"

"It was in the book, right? So you can safely assume I read it," he gave her a sharp look.

"You're acerbic," Abigail observed. "And rude," she paused a little thinking, "and also somewhat inept at making conversation."

"So what?"

"It's amusing."

"Well, I'm glad to be able to amuse you."

"Aren't you now?" she grinned and walked away over to her aunt's bed.

Their talks had become ever more frequent. At first it had seemed like she felt that common human decency required her to make small-talk with him, now that she had found out he had regained his voice, but soon their conversations became longer and less impersonal.

For some reason, and that was puzzling him, she found it amusing when he was annoyed. What perplexed him even more was the fact that Abigail didn't seem to be intimidated by his abrasive manners. Glares and sarcastic comments usually worked well with his students. They would cower and squirm under the scrutiny of his sharp eyes, while all she did was throw him a smug grin and retort with an equally derisive verbal barb of her own. Her behaviour towards him was unprecedented. Maybe that was what intrigued him and got him talking in the first place. She, of course, had another theory.

"No, really you're easy to talk to…"

"Didn't you want to say talk at?" He arched his eyebrow at her. "Pay attention to those prepositions sometimes they make all the difference in the world."

"Is that so, Professor? For some reason that must have skipped my notice up until now. I do own a book shop, you know. But then again it only came into my possession by accident. Did I already mention I'm illiterate? It's really a tragic situation," she rolled her eyes at him.

"I doubt that. You read quite fluently," he remarked.

"I'm satisfied to hear that my reading levels meet your standards, but may I inform you very politely and respectfully that you may very well be the rudest person I've ever had the pleasure of knowing," she said, smiling at him amusedly.

"I was not being rude," he replied somewhat indignantly.

"So far I have come to experience only two out of your doubtlessly extensive repertoire of moods – vexed and ill-humoured."

"Well, there is a third."

"And what might that be?"

"Humorous," he said in all dead-seriousness, his face perfectly expressionless.

She laughed. "Careful, Severus! Joking might cost you your reputation."

"There's not much left of it anyway," he said darkly. He had the talent to kill the mood immediately like no other. The smile froze on her face and her laughter died down.

"I'm sorry. It seems like I've managed to put my foot in it again," she said regretfully.

"It doesn't matter," he waved her apology off, like it was some obnoxious fly buzzing around his head. "So what did you want to say before?" Snape asked, deliberately changing topic.

"Oh, that. Well," she said after a moment of contemplation. "I think when you first get to talking with another person you've got all this expectations and misconceptions and there's also the pressure of having to leave a good first impression. I guess we didn't have that. It's save to say we left the worst kind of first impression on each other, didn't we? How's that for a good ice breaker?"

Abigail drew the door closed behind her and started walking down the long corridor, her high heels clicking on the floor. The corners of her mouth were slowly curling into a satisfied smile. She frowned, tried to shake off the thought, but didn't succeed, then stopped walking all together. How had this happened? Why was she suddenly feeling so happy?

A nurse passed her on the corridor, unaware of the other woman's dilemma. Brief greetings were exchanged, then she was gone again, leaving Abigail alone with her thoughts. It wasn't supposed to go like this.

It had been so easy to hate him. That what she wanted to do from the start, straight from the moment she had seen that tattoo on his arm, but yet again there she was smiling because she had enjoyed talking to him.

Did she like him? A man who managed to be obviously unlikable and subtly likeable at the same time. The subtle part was in the way he sometimes smiled when he knew she wasn't looking, the way he was so quick-witted and smart. He was the verbal sparring partner she had never had and never known she was looking for.

Still his past, that murky little thing, was somewhere lurking at her. She had a feeling it would sooner or later catch up with them, yet she would have to trust for now: a thing she had trouble doing after all that had happened. It was understandable, really, after being on the run for a little longer than a year only to be found and tortured by Death Eaters in the end. They never had gotten very far with the torturing bit actually. They had beaten her up and mocked her, but never even drawn their wands. They probably would have done much worse, had they not been summoned by the Dark Lord. She probably was still alive, thanks to pure luck and good timing. Had they caught her any other night, she probably would be dead by now.

So, yes, she wasn't particularly fond of the idea that he had been a Death Eater, but there was still that Potter kid to speak in his favour. Well, kid was a bit off actually. He was already a young man. Thinking that made her feel old, though she was only in her early thirties.

Alright, then friendship it was. She nodded and started walking again.

The day he was released held a couple of surprises for him. The first one being, that he still had the position of Potions Master at Hogwarts. Earlier that day he had received a letter from Minerva McGonagall, headmistress by now, in which she expressed her delight upon hearing of his speedy recovery, wishing he would soon return to school and start teaching again. Of course, he would accept. Though he felt a strong dislike for each and every one of those little dim witted tykes at Hogwarts, he still drew comfort from the familiar surroundings of his potions lab, where, after a long school day, he could indulge in one of his experiments or just hang after his thoughts. He didn't know any other life and he doubted he even wanted to.

The second surprise was a parcel wrapped in simple brown paper. One of the nurses, coincidentally the most annoying one - he had never bothered to learn there names just attributed them different levels of obnoxiousness - handed it to him with the comment "From your lady friend" with a sickening sweet smile. He just glared at her and ripped it out of her hands.

He only opened it when he was out of hospital bounds, meticulously peeling away the wrapping. It was a leather bound tome upon which the title of the book, "De Profundis", was imprinted in gilded letters. He ran his fingers over it appreciatively, before he opened the first page. On it there was something written in loopy, rather girlish letters. Doubtlessly a message from her. He had never seen her writing, but he would have pictured it like that.

It read: "Dear Severus." He had never allowed her to call him by his first name, but strangely she just seemed to assume it was okay to do so. Apparently it was some kind of natural given to her. "I have a feeling this will meet your taste more than the prose you had to overhear me read to my aunt in the course of the last weeks. Should you run out of reading material, you know where to find me..."

She had made sure he would be able to do so by strategically placing her card inside the book. He took it in his hand and looked at it suspiciously as if it was going to bite him. It was quite tastefully done. The front of it was glossy black with her bookshop's name and address on it written in white letters, while the back was just plain white. She had written something on it. At first he frowned when he read it, then a lopsided smirk briefly flitted over his face, before he safely stowed it away inside his pocket.

"We even cater to formerly evil minions." Nobody would have been able to call him that and live except for her. It was just the kind of insolence he expected from her. In fact, it was the kind of insolence he actually indulged when it came to her, because he found it to be…he briefly deliberated his final judgement…he found it to be rather endearing.

He had finished the book in one night. She had been right, it seemed like it had been written for him. That she had guessed as much intuitively, though, kept him from taking her up on her offer to go see her. So he let himself get distracted by the familiar routine of grading essays, preparing lessons and assigning detention. Living at a boarding school, it was quite easy to isolate himself from the rest of the world. Hogwarts was a fully functional microcosm that provided its inhabitants with everything they needed: a library, food, Quidditch matches, extensive amounts of gossip, which was actually not something he was keen on, but apparently it was a necessary evil…

The first day he was back it felt like nothing had changed. He once again donned his familiar long black robes and when he stepped into the classroom the familiar sent of chalk, wood mixed with a slightly acidy chemical note that seemed to have crept into every chink of the Potions Classroom, thanks to countless experiments that had been performed there, immediately surrounded him. He was home. It was like a glove that fit.

So for a while it was comfortable to take refuge in the familiar, but somehow not a single evening went by, he didn't hold her card in his hand, turning it over thoughtfully. Was he really going to push away the one friend he had made in how long…ten years? Longer?

His decision to finally visit Diagon Alley came upon him rather impulsively. One evening he had simply had enough of sitting around and thinking about passed up opportunities. Without giving it much thought he threw over his cloak and breezed out of the castle. Once out of grounds he disapparated and soon found himself in Diagon Ally.

The shops were about to close, it was a weekday and very few people were doing some last minute shopping. He found her shop easily enough. He had passed it a couple of times before the war. Though he had always found the books displayed in the shop window rather interesting, he had always admonished himself silently not to let his gaze linger for too long. It would not have been advisable for a Death Eater to stare at a shop window with Muggle books. Surely the Dark Lord would have frowned upon that.

After a brief moment of hesitation he entered the shop, sweeping in through the front door, his black cloak billowing behind him dramatically. It would have doubtlessly been a flawless entry, but unfortunately it was marred by the loud music booming through the shop. Abigail was standing in the middle of the aisle, her back facing him, singing along to the song at the top of her lungs.

Caught up in the rhythm of the music, she soon started dancing as well. The way she was moving was ever so slightly reminiscent of a snake dance. Her movements were fluent like waves, until the moment the song culminated into a booming brass section. He had to bite his cheek not to start laughing out loud. A minute ago he would have even gone as far a calling her graceful, but the dance she was now performing was oddly reminiscent of one of those tribal dances. Doubtlessly there would be rain tomorrow if she continued like this.

As if it was not enough already, the infamous song she was bellowing out was apparently called "Bitch" or something equally absurd, because the refrain was "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother."

This would be enough to ridicule her for a lifetime. Suddenly he was extremely pleased he had chosen this particular moment for his visit. Now, however, it was time to make his presence known. Realising she wouldn't be able to hear him over the noise of the stereo, he drew his wand and pointed it at the offensive electronic device. "Silencio!" he hissed. Immediately the music died down.

She stopped moving and looked around in puzzlement, first at the stereo that had sudden gone silent. Turning around, her eyes met his. He had never seen someone blush more profusely. Her mouth was opening and closing as she was struggling with words.

"Well, I supposed you're certainly wishing now you hadn't forwarded your invitation," he commented dryly, not able to keep a certain amount of derision out of his voice.

She coughed. "Severus?" She asked, giving him an astonished once-over as if she was making sure he was really there.

"Yes," he responded savouring the baffled look on her face.

"You look good. Rested."

"And you look flustered," he remarked evenly.

"Do I?" she rubbed her neck embarrassedly. "How long have you been standing there?"

He threw her a mocking glance and to her great surprise she discovered he was smirking ever so slightly.

"Bugger," she whispered under her breath, while the tips of her ears grew slightly pink. "Well, what can I do for you today, Severus? Except for humiliating myself in front of you and affording you the amusement of a lifetime, of course," Abigail said, slowly beginning to become irritated with him.

"Which already made the visit worthwhile, I must say."

Abigail almost let out a frustrated groan, but bit her tongue. "So? What's it going to be?" She asked brusquely, slowly losing her patience with him.

"Do you have any other recommendations?" He asked rather formally.

"Only the ones that practically force themselves on me," Abigail said looking at him pointedly. "Blake, Byron, Keats, Coleridge, Shelley and just a dash of Rossetti."

He frowned her, which encouraged her to clarify the situation further. "Tailors take measure too, don't they?"

About half an hour, which was well past closing hour, they had assembled a neat stack of books. After they had deposited them on the counter, she scurried behind it and started rummaging about busily.

"Bellini's Compendium of Potions and Herbs," Abigail muttered to herself as she hoisted a large catalogue on the table. She put on her glasses, opened the book and traced the columns with her index finger. "Not in store. That's a pity," she mumbled. "But I know where to get…I'll just have to floo…"

Severus decided to clear his throat to remind her of his presence. "Oh, I'm sorry," she smiled. "I zoned out again, didn't I? Well, about the book. I can get it for you, but it's going to take a couple of days. Would you like to have it delivered?"

"I'm surprised you should be able to provide a copy at all. Mr. Slug down the street told me…"

"Oh, that old bat! He lacks the certain diplomatic finesse necessary to get the job done…"

"Pray tell, what kind of diplomatic finesse is required to acquire one of those rare copies of 'Bellini's Compendium'?"

She threw him a conspiratorial smile. "First of all, you should be able to speak Italian, secondly you should be able to sweet talk, and thirdly, and most importantly, you should be a woman. If I remember correctly all of the above don't apply to Old Slug, which is probably why he couldn't manage to get one…So delivery?"

"Er…Yes, thank you."

"Give me a week or so."

"What about those," he indicated the stack of books sitting on the counter in front of him. "How much do I owe you?"

She wrinkled her nose in disapproval, clearly displeased with the concept of talking money from him, though she couldn't exactly afford to be squeamish about that. After all this was a bookshop, not a library. "They are 50 percent off," she said quickly.

He gave her a sharp look. "They are not," he said slowly.

"They are if I say so. Oh, and by the way, it's supposed to work like this – you as the customer ask for a lower prize, you're not supposed to raise the prize," she explained calmly.

TBC  
_Oh, I forgot to say, the song that Abby sings along to is "Bitch" by Meredith Brooks._


	3. It Gives Me Thrills To Wind You Up

_AN: A big thanks to my beta __**antisocialite**__! You've been great - as always._

Seconds after the bell had rung the students started pouring out of the classroom. She had to quickly step aside not to be caught up in the stampede. The children, most of them around 12, were merrily chatting among each other and she caught shreds of their conversations when they passed her. "Oi, mate what's up with the greasy git? He almost seems human nowadays. He didn't even scowl when Chandler's caldron boiled over."

"But he quietly took those 10 points from Ravenclaw nevertheless."

"Still. No glares, no tirades, no nothing."

"You think that's an improvement?"

"Sure, maybe he finally went and got himself that long overdue heart transplant at St. Mungo's."

"I doubt that."

Abigail grinned broadly at their exchange and the kids shot her funny looks when they passed her by. She was wearing Muggle clothes - a pair of ripped, washed out blue jeans and a white blouse. Her appearance was decidedly odd for a magical school. That and the fact that she obviously had business with Professor Snape, who in their opinion wasn't even aware of the existence of women, was enough to let their imagination run wild. They shot her suspicious looks and started whispering as they continued their way down the hall. Abigail watched them go with a pensive look on her face, then quickly stepped inside the by now empty classroom.

"Knock knock?" she called out into the large room. The wooden floor boards were creaking underneath her feet. She sniffled a little, inhaling the acrid stench of a potion experiment gone wrong. The other cauldrons were still simmering on unflinchingly. What were they brewing? Strengthening Solution, the board read, every inch of it covered with Severus's neat writing. She advanced towards his desk, adjusting her grip on "Bellini's Compendium" that was neatly wrapped in a piece of red cloth.

It was a quite heavy tome. In retrospect she should have probably shrunken it for the trip, but sometimes magic books, especially old ones, reacted badly towards charms, so she had decided against it. She deposited it on the desk, only then noticing the door on the wall behind it. It was left ajar and probably led to some sort of repository for the potions ingredients.

"Severus?" Abigail called out questioningly once again, before she made her way over to the board. She grabbed a piece of chalk and drew a doodle on the left topmost corner of the board, only to erase it seconds later. Waiting was not her forte, because she tended to lose her patience pretty quickly, so she started pacing up and down the classroom in order to occupy herself. While she walked down the rows of tables, she absent-mindedly started playing around with the chalk, throwing it from one hand into the other.

Unbeknownst to her, he swept into the room, just as she was marvelling at the clumsy carvings some student had left on a table in the back row.

"Abigail," he said evenly.

She turned around with a smile on her face, of which he felt entirely undeserving. "Severus!" she called out and advanced a few steps in his direction. Her enthusiasm was as unnerving as ever.

"Potions accident?" she asked curiously.

"You have quite a talent for stating the obvious," he remarked ill-humouredly. "Chandler decided to grace us with yet another display of his idiocy."

"Oh, come on! It can't be that bad."

"He wanted to add scurvy grass to Strengthening Solution," he pointed out, his left eyebrow raised cynically.

Abigail cringed. "Point taken. Even I know that's not a very smart idea and I'm certainly not a potions expert," she made a wave in the general direction of the desk, "By the way I brought you Bellini's compendium."

"Thank you," he said noticing the tome that was lying on his desk for the first time. Snape carefully, almost reverently wrapped it out of the red cloth. "It's perfect," he remarked, with something akin to wonder in his voice, as his hand caressed its cover.

"I know," she said smugly. "Impressed?"

"Very nearly," the hint of a smirk was audible in his voice.

"Impressed enough to go and have dinner with me?" Abigail asked. "You do have a break now, haven't you?"

He briefly pondered her proposal. "I do, but I don't think I will. I've seen quite enough of those little brats for today."

"Seriously now?! You let me come up all the way here and don't even offer me dinner?" She looked slightly miffed, but when her eyes fell on the cauldron next to her, her expression changed into one of pure mischief. "I wonder what would happen if a piece of chalk dropped into that cauldron," Abigail said innocently.

"The potion would coagulate and then explode, covering the whole lab including us in with sticky slim," he growled.

"Sounds very dramatic," she extended her arm holding the piece of chalk right over the cauldron.

"I was just talking hypothetically, you know. It's probably just the hunger talking. I feel positively starved. People tend to say a lot of silly things on a sugar low. It slightly chilly in here, isn't it? I feel a bit weak in the knees," Abigail raised her free hand to her forehead in a mock dramatic gesture.

"You wouldn't dare," Snape shot her a warning glance.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Besides all you have to do to avert catastrophe is have dinner with me."

"Hand me the piece of chalk this instant!" He demanded a little more vehemently, walking towards her with an outstretched hand. Doubtlessly his students would have been squirming in terror by now, but somehow his authoritarian behaviour only managed to bring out the worst in her.

"Feeling weaker by the minute," she said looking at him pointedly.

"I hope you're aware of the fact that, should you actually decide to go through with this, you will spend the rest of the evening on your hands and knees scrubbing this classroom clean."

"You forgot. I'm not one of your students. You can't give me detention."

"You could have fooled me. Maybe it was your childish behaviour that let me misjudge your maturity momentarily," he retorted. "Besides you can't simply waltz inside this classroom and destroy school property."

"You're being overly dramatic. The explosion would only make a mess. That's all. Big deal!"

"Nevertheless you would have to clean it up."

"And who's going to make sure I do?"

"A rather redundant question, don't you think? I'll be all too happy to oversee your work."

"Of course." She threw him a smug grin. "Don't you have better things to do than hanging around in the Potions Classroom after hours?"

"As a matter of fact I do. So I'd rather you didn't go through with your silly little scheme."

"So? What's it going to be then? Dinner or detention? It's really a lose-lose situation for you if you look at it that way. But at least during dinner I'll be too busy eating to constantly pester you with my annoying chattering."

"You do have a point," he conceded. "And you drive a rather hard bargain, I must add."

"Exactly. But that's what got you the compendium in the first place. So?"

He regarded her pensively for a second, then spoke his verdict. "Alright." He once again extended his hand impatiently. "Since I relented to your childish antics, would you please be so kind as to give me the piece of chalk now?"

"Of course," she laid it into his palm. Her fingertips brushed against his skin and lingered for a moment longer than necessary. Her heart sped up. Their eyes met and for a brief moment they were both at loss for words. Then she quickly retracted her hand, as if it had been burned.

"Alright." Her voice sounded somewhat breathy when she spoke again. "Can we go now?" Abigail crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him challengingly. She had never noticed up until now how tall he was. Yet again they had never been this close. Her fingertips were still tingling treacherously. She balled her hand into a fist and opened it again. There wasn't much of an improvement.

"Yes, of course, let me just put away the book quickly." He turned abruptly, grabbed the book from the desk and swept out of the room. He was only gone for a few seconds, but that was enough time for her to mentally berate herself for acting like some silly smitten teenage girl.

When he returned, he quickly breezed passed her. "Are you coming or are you just going to stand there gaping all day?" he called over his shoulder, as he zestfully pushed the door open that led out of the classroom.

"Coming," she called out and hurried to catch up with him. After he had locked the door behind them, he strode down the corridor, his black ropes billowing behind him. She was having some trouble keeping up with him, though she was wearing sneakers.

"Would you mind not turning this into an Olympic discipline?" Abigail called out to him.

"It's called walking, not creeping. Just try to keep up," he said dismissively.

"If you're worried about the gossip my appearance might cause, just think what kind of gossip you turning up to dinner with a flushed and sweaty woman will encourage."

Upon that he abruptly stopped walking and waited for her to walk up next to him. Maybe she was imagining things, but could it be that there was a touch of pink to his cheeks? Had she managed to embarrass Severus Snape with something as casual as a sexual innuendo?

The rest of their walk to the Great Hall was spent in silence. Having arrived there, he motioned her with a courteous gesture to enter first, which left her slightly suspicious. The reason for his sudden display of manners was all too quickly revealed to her. When he entered behind her all heads turned in their direction.

"I hope you're happy now," he whispered to her under his breath as he ushered her into the general direction the teachers' table that was at the other side of the hall.

"I didn't think it would be such a big deal."

"Well, as you can see it apparently is. But not to worry the best is yet to come…"

She was soon to find out what his cryptic words meant. Most of the other teachers were practically doing a double-take at her sight.

A stout grey-haired woman with brown ropes jumped to her feet, over-enthusiastic to shake her hand. "Who is this charming friend of yours, Severus?" she called out extending her hand to Abigail, while everybody at the table had fallen quiet, intently waiting for what Snape would have to say.

"Abigail Carter, may I present Madame Sprout, our resident Herbology teacher."

"How do you do?" Abigail said politely and soon her hand was clasped in the iron grip of the other woman.

"Oh, it's such a pleasure to meet you!" Sprout droned out.

"Of course it is," Snape sighed under his breath and rolled his eyes.

"Hooch," Sprout called out over the table, "Will you come over here so that our Miss Carter here can sit next to Snape?"

The other woman nodded her consent and quickly made her way over. Introductions were repeated, hands were shaken and then they were ushered over to the middle of the table. "I'm so sorry," Abigail whispered to Severus as he led her over to their chairs. "I didn't know they would make such a fuss." She could tell by the way he scowled that he was deeply displeased with the whole situation.

"Too late to be sorry now."

He pulled her chair out for her. A gesture she knew he made only, not to please her, but because it was expected of him.

"Headmistress," he nodded at McGonagall, who was sitting to his left, before he sat down himself.

"Severus," the older woman reciprocated the curt nod, then turned her attention to Abigail.

"As I have already gathered from previous conversation your name is Abigail Carter."

"Yes, Ma'am," she said.

"Welcome to our table, Miss Carter."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"You're not one of the students. You may call me Minerva," the headmistress said, emphasizing her words with one short and energetic nod.

"I'm Abigail."

Soon their conversation was interrupted by a steaming plate of delicious pumpkin soup placed in front of them and suddenly Abigail didn't feel that sorry for having badgered Severus into taking her to dinner anymore. After all, the sensation they had created when they had entered together had ebbed down by now.

"So how did you two meet?" Professor Flitwick to her right piped in.

"I was visiting my aunt at St.Mungo's. She shared a room with Severus."

Flitwick raised an eyebrow at the woman's casual use of his colleague's first name, but didn't comment on it. Very few people were on first name basis with the brooding Potions Master.

"What's your aunt's name?" McGonagall enquired.

"Miriam Priestly."

"_The_ Miriam Priestly?"

"Yes, indeed."

"Are you into charms yourself?"

"No, I'm afraid I'm not particularly talented when it comes to charms. I majored in Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes. I own a bookshop in Diagon Alley."

"Carter?" the headmistress repeated pensively. "Horacio Carter? Didn't your father go to Hogwarts as well? He was there back when I first started teaching. Bright young man. If I recall correctly he was a Slytherin."

"Yes, he was." Abigail answered monosyllabically. Her father was not a subject she was particularly fond talking about.

The unemotional tone of her voice caught Snape's attention. He had known her only for a short time, but her discomfort was almost palpable to him.

"What became of him?" McGonagall enquired curiously.

"Well, he met my mother, a Muggle by the way, they married. His family was not particularly fond of that idea. Pure bloods, you see. He was a good man, but however much he rebelled in his youth, he just couldn't shake off the twenty odd years worth of conservative thinking, deeply ingrained in his mind. He didn't exactly encourage me to explore my Muggle roots. Unfortunately the more he tried to talk me out of it, the more I got interested in it."

The way she rattled down her tale, Snape had a feeling she was glossing over the more delicate parts of her history.

"Well, I can't see what should be wrong with trying to find out more about one's roots," the older woman remarked.

"That's very kind of you to say."

"I hope Mr. Carter eventually came to his senses. After all you seem to be a quite accomplished young lady."

"Yes, it's all settled now," she said quizzically, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

"I'm going to walk you back to Hogsmeade. Visitors sometimes have trouble remembering the way. And we don't want you to have an unpleasant encounter with the Whomping Willow or accidentally end up in the Forbidden Forest, do we?"

Abigail looked at him quizzically, trying to find out why she was suddenly deserving of his kindness. She was almost positive he was up to something. Ever since dinner, he had given her those strange looks.

"I don't want to inconvenience you," she finally said pointedly.

"I wouldn't have offered to accompany you in the first place, if I hadn't been willing to."

Night had fallen by now and they started walking the dimly lit corridors of the school side by side. Unlike early this evening, he tried to adapt to her speed and didn't storm ahead.

"Is everything alright? You're not mad anymore, are you?" she shot him a sidelong glance. His edged features were accentuated by the semi-darkness that surrounded them. He didn't respond immediately so she continued talking. "If I had known, I wouldn't have badgered you into taking me to dinner. Really! I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

"Yeah?"

"I've just said so, haven't I?"

He paused for a long time and just when she thought they would spend the rest of the way in silence, he started talking again. "So your father was a Slytherin…"

"Yes."

"And he went to Hogwarts. Maybe I've met him."

"Don't be ridiculous! You're only seven years older than me, so that's highly unlikely…"

"How come we never crossed paths back then?"

"Maybe because I've never been to Hogwarts."

"Home-schooled?"

"Yes. Anything wrong with that?"

"No, not really."

"But the way you said it…"

"Slightly irritable today, are we?" he shot her a mocking glance. "Is it that time of the month yet?"

"I'm just not comfortable talking about the past. That's all. Or should we talk about yours?" she asked pointedly.

He frowned at her in disapproval. "I noticed that you were acting unusual when you were talking about your father during dinner. I was worried."

"Were you really now?" They had stopped walking by now. She looked at him sharply, trying to figure out whether he told the truth. As expected, he met her gaze unwaveringly. She couldn't read anything in those black eyes of his. The flickering light in the corridor, which stemmed from the candelabras hovering overhead, made him look decidedly eerie. Shadows fell on his face, erasing the little softness that was there. He did not like the Severus she knew. She could almost imagine why the students were so afraid of him.

"Yes," he said finally. His voice was for once free of its ever present mocking undertone. Its sincere timbre crept under her skin and made her want to believe what he had just said.

"Well, you can ask me about my past if I can ask you about yours…"

He tilted his head a little, regarding her pensively with narrowed eyes for a few seconds. "If that's what necessary to get you talking…Just don't expect me to answer all of your nagging little questions."

She knew for a fact that making such a compromise must have cost him quite an effort. He wasn't very talkative in general, but when it came to his past the term 'silent as the grave' very much applied. Whenever their conversation skirted close to that topic, he always tried to stir her away from it as good as he could. She respected his unspoken wish, also because usually the present mattered to her more than the past.

Abigail let out a long drawn sigh. "My father kicked me out of his house when I was 16. I announced back then that I wanted to live with my grandparents for a while to better get to know the Muggle way of life. For one whole year I lived without any magic. It was quite fascinating really. We always think things would fall apart without it, but they don't," she gave him a taxing look as if she was waiting for him to make a comment, but to her surprise he remained silent.

"When I returned, my father had calmed down enough to talk to me again. Mother was delighted. Unfortunately not much had changed. I had become only more adamant in my wish to learn more about Muggle culture, while my father wished me to study something respectable like Charms or Divination and so forth. Apparently my decision for Muggle Studies and Ancient Runes was the last straw for him. He disinherited me. I was never to see him or my mother again until I had come to my senses. Mum cried for weeks. Well, that was at least what Aunt Miriam told me, since I wasn't welcome anymore…"

As far as she was concerned that was the end of the story. Talking about her past had cost her a lot of strength. She had bitten back on the self-loathing and guilt for his sake, because she knew her turning into a sopping mess would have made him extremely uncomfortable. Come to think of it, it would have made her extremely uncomfortable losing it in front of him.

"I see," he said after a while. In proportion to what she had just told him it was disappointing response. "Have you talked to your father ever since?"

"No, he died three years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Well…," she drew in a long and shaky breath. "That's what life is like. There's rarely a happy ending."

"The tragedy is just that we always hope for one."

"Another disappointed idealist," she looked at him in surprise.

"Something like that…Your books suggested there's hope for us yet. What was it again? _The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain._"

"You actually paid attention." Abigail was impressed.

"St. Mungo's isn't exactly entertaining. There was nothing better to do," he casually shrugged his shoulders, trying to gloss over this one little crack in his abrasive and uncaring façade.

"So what do you think? Is it true?" For some reason he was determined to find out what she thought about it.

"I hope it is. You?"

"I don't know if I can sum up the energy for hoping again."

"I think you can. It would be really sad if you couldn't," she threw him a little smile. A small twitch of his mouth was the only indication he tried to reciprocate it.

They had reached the apparition spot. It was a clear autumn night. The air was crisp and there were no clouds up in the sky for the full moon to hide behind. Somewhere far in the background the dark silhouette of the Whomping Willow delineated against the dark blue night sky.

"Alright," she said finally. "Thanks for walking me here."

"Welcome."

"I'll be seeing you then?" Abigail asked insecurely.

"One can assume as much."

She laughed. "Always such a bundle of joy, you are."

Caught up in that light-hearted moment, she impulsively reached out to take him in her arms as a goodbye. To her it was no big deal, because she always hugged her friends. Besides no one had ever given off the vibe of someone who was in a dire need of a hug as much as this man right in front of him.

She could feel him stiffen in her embrace, but didn't let go.

"You need to relax, Severus. After all this is not some kind of sinister ploy to ram a dagger in your back," she joked, trying at least to get him to lower his guard a little.

To her surprise he did and his arms, which had up until now hung at his sides impassively reached out to encircle her as well. It was a simple gesture, but made her feel happy nonetheless. Despite the cool night air she suddenly felt warm and tingly.

"You smell nice," she remarked when she stepped back. "Potions and soap."

He gave her an odd look. "That's not something most people would find pleasant."

"I'm not most people."

"Clearly not."

"What's that got to mean?"

"Don't you have places to be?"

"Not right now, no."

"So you'd rather stand around in the cold and argue about nonsensical things."

She flashed him one of those bright grins she knew he found unnerving. "Yes."

"You're infuriating," he said darkly.

"That's also not something most people would find pleasant. Yet again you're still standing here…"

"I never said I found you pleasant," he said, the corners of his mouth curving into a smug little grin.

She had never seen him laugh, let alone grin, so she was momentarily taken aback. He was quite an intimidating man, but not when he smiled. It made her believe that deep down he was more than a sarcastic curmudgeon. It wasn't something she hadn't long suspected or she wouldn't be friends with him.

"If that's all it takes to get you to shut up…" he remarked.

"At least one way out of many," she said, throwing him one last cheeky smile before she disapparated, leaving behind a pensive Potions Master. He spent his way back to the castle contemplating all possible meanings of this sentence. Some of them made him smile a little.

TBC


	4. I've Grown Accustomed To Her Face

_**LAMENT OF FEDERICO**_

_It's the usual story of the shepherd ...  
The poor boy wanted to say it,  
but fell asleep.  
In sleep there is oblivion.  
How I envy him!  
If only I could find sleep like this -  
to find, at least, oblivion in my sleep!  
I only want to find peace:  
if only I could forget everything.  
But all my struggle is in vain..  
I still see her sweet face before me!  
And peace has left me for ever...  
why do I have to suffer so much pain?  
She always speaks straight to my heart!  
Oh fatal vision, leave me alone!  
You wound me so much!  
Oh poor me!  
__**Francesco Cilea - L'ARLESIANA**_

_Thank you __**antisocialite**__! You're an amazing beta._

She absent-mindedly adjusted her glasses, pouring over a book from the Dark Arts section. It dealt mainly with the Unforgivables. Like every witch and wizard, that had received proper schooling, she was familiar with the Avadar Kedvara and Cruciatus Curse. However, the spells this book talked about were much more malicious. They were not designed to kill, at least not immediately, but eventually they would all lead to a slow and rather painful death. It happened quite frequently that she had to shiver in disgust when she leafed through those pages. She couldn't afford to be squeamish, though, if she wanted to go through with her plan.

A plan he was never to know about. Not if she could help it. It would spoil everything. Ruin the tentative friendship they had built. He would think she had only used him, even though she had never asked him anything about his time as a Death Eater. It was a deliberate decision. If he ever found out, he wouldn't be able to accuse her of abusing his trust or pumping him for information.

She had long found out who had been her aunt's attackers. Two Death Eathers named Avery Abbott and David Tennyson. They had gone around bragging shamelessly about their deeds. After all being able to best the Miriam Priestly was quite something. Unfortunately the Ministry of Magic hadn't moved a finger to shut them up. Up until today they were at large. It was claimed their guilt could never been proven. Yeah, right! It was just too much trouble, having to send a bunch of Aurors after them, that was all. Since the war was now officially over, the Ministry seemed to be deaf on that ear. Better to sweep the gruesome past under the rug and move on to a fresh new start.

Abigail rubbed the bridge of her nose. The letters were starting to blur underneath her eyes. Maybe it was time to stop researching. She opened the cupboard in which the other Dark Arts books were safely stored away and put the tome back inside. The books were purring contently when they sensed her presence. Of course, they were. She fed them a couple of mice once a week, so that their hunger for flesh would be appeased. After that they were as peaceful as kittens.

After she had safely locked the cupboard, she ran her hands over her clothes, straightening them, trying to brush of the imaginary lint, she thought was there. Reading those books always left her feeling dirty. It cost her more strength than she thought, but after all it was not easy acting against one's nature. Revenge had always been a concept that was completely alien to her. Up until that day…up until that day someone was hurt she cared about deeply.

There were few people she cared about. Her aunt, her mother, her friends…she stopped. Severus. Yes, she cared about him as well. It was okay to think it. It would even be okay to say it out loud. Just not to him. She tried to imagine his reaction and for some reason she couldn't fathom it.

They talked about a lot of things, about philosophy, religion, politics, literature, life and death – things that were supposed to mean something. But in the end they didn't. She knew him, but didn't know him. Was it because he held back or because she did? The result was still the same. They were not close, not as close as she wanted to be.

It was absurd wanting something like that. Absurd to think he would let her in. For some idiotic reason she was hoping he would, because she wished she knew him better. When she looked at him she no longer saw the Death Eater, somewhere along the line he had become her friend. That multifaceted, wonderful, gruff, irritating man that sometimes smiled at her when she least expected it. Probably when he least expected it too.

He found himself thinking about her more than he should. It was a strange thing really and so very not like him to. At least that was what he was trying to tell himself.

The next morning he wordlessly swept into the potions class room, just as usually, and headed straight for the board. He reached for a piece of chalk. His hand was hovering over it for a moment indecisively. The thought of her rolled over him like a wave. He shook it off, finally able to overcome his hesitation. From there on everything took its usual course.

By noon he had almost convinced himself that it was some kind of strange momentary folly that had taken a hold of him. That was at least until he entered his potions lab down in the dungeons later that day. There on top of the work bench Bellini's Compendium was lying, tempting him silently. He looked around the room for a moment helplessly. Then he left the room again with an annoyed huff, banging the door behind himself in the process. There was no limit to the frustration he felt.

If he ignored this feeling it would go away sooner or later. After all that was what he wanted. What he wanted? How much time had passed since he last thought about that? It had never been about what he wanted, because the things he most desired were gone, unreachable, and above all impossible. At some point he had stopped wanting. It was hard to start again so suddenly.

He decided that the wisest course of action would be not seeing her again. It would simplify matters considerably, but the thought alone made him feel glum. However irritating her emotionality, her enthusiasm and her laughter was to him, he had grown accustomed to it. Could he do without it? Of course, he could.

For three whole weeks they did neither see nor talk to each other. Until one day an owl arrived, soaring in through on of the windows of the Great Hall, only to land gracefully on the teachers' table in front of Severus. He gave the animal a sceptical look, raising his eyebrow at it. It looked back, tilting its head to the left, observing him curiously. The bird could at best be described as insolent and that was what gave him a clue as to who had sent it.

It placed the small piece of paper it was holding in its peak on his still empty plate with something akin to cockiness and flew off abruptly. He watched the parchment for a while suspiciously, before he took it in his hand, slowly unrolling it. There was one single sentence written on it. No flowery words, just a simple honest statement, which would be his undoing.

"I miss you," the parchment read. He recognized her hand immediately.

His first impulsive thought was _I miss you too _. Then he thought better of it and crumbled up the piece of paper.

The old-fashioned bell above the door rang, announcing the arrival of another customer. She took a moment to compose herself, dealing with the Dark Arts usually put her in a less than cheery mood, then stepped out on the aisle to welcome the new arrival.

As usual Severus made a point out of turning up when she least expected him. Yet again there he was hovering in the doorframe somewhat indecisively.

Upon seeing him her bad mood was whisked away momentarily. "Oh, hi! I didn't expect you…," the 'at all' was unmistakably implied in the short pause that followed. "Come in! Come in!" she bubbled enthusiastically. He was there. He was really there.

"Hello," he greeted her stiffly.

"So what brings you here?" she asked, trying hard to keep herself from breaking out into a smile.

"I…," he stopped, apparently at a loss for words.

She waited for an appropriate amount of time to pass before she jumped to his rescue. "Okay, while you come up with a decent excuse for your visit, though you don't really need an excuse to just drop by, I'm going to make us some tea. Fancy a cup?" She was talking very fast, probably thanks to the massive amounts coffee she had already drunken today, but then again maybe it was just plain nervousness.

"Beg you pardon?" he blinked for a couple of times looking at her confusedly.

"You. Me. Tea?" she repeated slowly, as if talking to a child.

"Alright. Lovely. Yes, thanks." Apparently he wasn't at the heights of his wits today either, because usually he would have lectured her on how he wasn't stupid and had very well understood her the first time around.

She disappeared in the backroom behind the counter to prepare the before mentioned tea. "I'm afraid it's going to have to be tea bags, if that's alright with you?" she called out.

"Couldn't you have warned me before?" was his response. She smiled to herself quietly. _Oh, how she had missed him that smug, old bastard!_

"Can't you come in here? It's kind of ridiculous screaming at each other across the shop at the top of our lungs."

"I thought so too," his voice suddenly was very close by. She flinched and whipped around. He was only standing a couple of inches from her, casually inspecting the mess that covered her desk from over her shoulder. It was a strange assortment of Muggle novels, spell books, loose pieces of papers she had scribbled on and bills. There were little isles in between on which there was just enough space for an empty cup or a half eaten chocolate bar.

She flushed a little, wishing she had given her impulsive decision about the tea a bit more thought. He wasn't supposed to see this mess. "I'm sorry. I didn't expect any visitors."

"Obviously."

His response irritated her and made her feel embarrassed, so she decided to retaliate. "So why did you say you came again? Is there anything you needed?"

"I… had some businesses at Slug and Jiggers, so I decided to drop by."

"Good cover-up," she threw him a smug little smile. "Couldn't you have just said you missed me and came to see me?" The only outward sign of her inner agitation were her hands that were trembling ever so slightly, when she placed the two cups on the table in front of her. She only prayed they would be steadier when she poured the tea.

"No," he answered flatly.

"Charming," Abigail retorted.

She drew her wand and pointed at the tea kettle, muttering a simple heating spell. He stepped closer watching her interestedly.

"What?"

"I've just never seen you use your wand. I half expected you to be a Squib."

"I'm not a Squib. I just don't use magic for everything, you know."

"So your wand…From Olivander's I assume?" he asked casually.

"Yes, 9 ½ inches, ebony. The core's made out of kneazle hair. Nothing special. What about yours?"

"Mine…I've just gotten a new one."

She smiled at him sweetly. "What? First day at school?"

"No, you see Voldemort has just tried to kill me," sarcasm was practically oozing from that statement. "When I woke up I was informed it was gone, lost in the lieu of the battle -minor inconvenience."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Abigail said in all sincerity. A short moment passed before she continued talking again. "How's the new one? Satisfactory?" When she said the last word, her tone was back to teasing again. It was a deliberate attempt to rip him out of his gloom mood.

"Stubborn."

"Birds of a feather…"

"I didn't come here to be insulted by you," unfortunately she noticed to late that today he was rather quick to loose his temper.

"Wait, Severus," by now honed in on his mood swings, she foresaw his next move and grabbed him by the wrist before he could storm off. "I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it like this."

For a moment he just stared at her taxingly, then nodded slowly.

"Really, you should only take me seriously fifty percent of the time, because I babble. It's like all those short-circuit between my mouth and my brain get fried sometimes. I keep prattling on and on and it doesn't really make sense and…," as her eyes fell on her hand that was still wrapped around his wrist, she abruptly fell silent. What came as quite of surprise to him, and to her as well, was that she didn't let go. Her index finger was lying just above his pulse and she could feel it speed up from a regular rhythm to an anxious drumming. His skin was warm, almost hot against her cold hands.

Up until now she had not been aware of the fact that they were standing so close. The seam of his robes was brushing against her trouser legs. She cautiously raised her head and looked at him. Usually his face was unreadable, but what she could see in it now was a mixture of surprise, curiosity and maybe even fear.

She slowly loosened her grip on his wrist, her fingers brushing over his skin in the process. Their touch was featherlike, almost like a caress. He shivered ever so slightly.

"Severus?" she said softly. "Did I do something wrong?"

It took him a while to answer and when he did it sounded rather strangled. "No."

"Good," she said softly.

The tea kettle behind them let out a shrill hoot, startling them both out of their reverie. Nevertheless neither one of them hurried to take care of it.

"Severus," somehow the way she said his name had changed. It felt more intimate now, "I know you will hate this, but I just have to ask. Why did you really come?"

As expected he didn't answer immediately. "I told you I had business…"

"Bollocks!" she cut him off harshly. He had already evaded this question twice. She had reached the end of her patience now.

His eyes narrowed to two dark slits. A disapproving scowl settled on his face. He didn't like being interrupted.

"Just for once could you do me a favour and do not stall or deflect or do anything of the stuff you usually do in a situation like this?"

"Why?" he glared down at her in defiance.

"Because it's utterly frustrated. That's why!"

"Get used to it."

She let out a raucous laugh and threw her hands up in frustration. "Fine, be like that! At least I won't be able to say I haven't tried."

No reaction. How could he just stand there and not say anything?

Abigail massaged the bridge of her nose, feeling his eyes bore into her. This was simply too much! Who the hell did he think he was? "No, actually, come to think of it I think I won't let it go this time. It would mean playing into your hands. Because that's just what you want, isn't it? Well, tough luck!" she glared at him. "Get over yourself already or do you want to retract into your little shell forever, so that nobody can reach you!?"

"I don't have to listen to this," he hissed.

"No, you don't have to, but you will." Thanks to her anger, she wasn't the least bit intimidated by him. "Who's going to tell you if not me?" she searched his face, finding an expressionless mask that was neither offering any encouragement to continue talking nor any discouragement. "Look, Severus, I just want to get to know you. Is that so hard to accept?"

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?"

"I thought it was quite clear what I meant."

"Apparently not."

He rolled his eyes, annoyed that he actually had to spell it out for her. "Why would you want something like that?"

"I don't know." He could tell she was lying.

"Now you're the one who's stalling," he said with a certain amount of satisfaction.

"I don't think you want to hear," she said defiantly.

"I've just asked, haven't I?" he said in a tone rivalling her own.

Abigail hesitated for a second before she continued talking. "Good. Alright. I'll tell you," she took a deep breath. Somewhere along the line her anger had disappeared. "I like you."

He looked genuinely surprised. As if it was hard for him to wrap his mind around the thought that someone actually enjoyed his company.

It had cost her a lot of courage getting those words out. Now she felt very vulnerable, as if a single word from him would be enough to crush her. Yet again she needed him to say something. "Severus?" she asked timidly

"Yes," he said distractedly.

"Say something, please."

Where was he to begin? Maybe by telling her that something as simple as her telling him that she liked him was enough to turn his whole world upside down? She was the first person in years to do so. He had never felt sorry for himself, never felt depend on the approval or the sympathy of over people. Then why was this making him so…happy?

He returned to the present. She was still waiting for him to answer. With each second that passed she looked a little more anxious, a little more uncomfortable. He hadn't realized his opinion mattered that much to her.

"What am I supposed to say?" he finally managed to get out.

"Isn't that obvious," Abigail looked at him sadly.

It hurt his heart seeing her like that. "Well…I like you too," he finally said, unable to find the right words to properly describe what he felt for her.

Abigail smiled at that, truly, genuinely. She smiled because of something he had said. He still had to wrap his mind around that concept.

Then, when he was already half-expecting her to ask another one of those exhaustingly personal questions, she simply changed topic. Maybe she had sensed his discomfort and taken pity of him. Whatever he it was he was thankful for it.

"So…where were we? Oh, yes. Tea?"

"Yes, please," he said quickly.

He was wrinkled his nose in disapproval, when she produced the tea bags from a drawer in her desk.

"Anything wrong?"

"This is just plain barbaric. Don't you have any proper tea?" Apparently he had already recovered from the shock of hearing her declare her sympathy for him. Falling back into their familiar banter was something that gave both of them a certain amount reassurance, so they happily took refuge in it.

"No, apparently not."

"I'll be quite happy to provide some next time I stop by. No one should be forced to drink something like this, at least not twice."

TBC


	5. Dirty Little Secret

_Thank you __**antisocialite**__! Definitely worth the wait huggles Your comment prompted me to re-write some stuff. I'm glad I did. _

He stepped back inside the empty classroom carrying various potions ingredients in his arms. He had just dismissed his last class for today. Now the only thing left to do, before he could retreat to his quarters, was to prepare everything for the second years that were going to brew a Swelling Potion first thing tomorrow morning.

Abigail sat somewhere in the third row, watching him enter calmly, with her jeans-clad legs stretched out under the desk nonchalantly, her arms crossed over her chest. She was casually dressed in a dark red sweater and sneakers, her hair swept up in a loose ponytail. So far he had never seen her in anything but Muggle clothes. By now, he doubted she even owned a pair of robes.

As they had stopped making up excuses to see each other, so he was only moderately surprised to see her there.

"Miss Carter, always a pleasure," he said with an ironic smirk.

"Likewise, Professor Snape."

"How's your aunt?" he asked politely. From what he had gathered she still went to see her every day, hoping in vain for an improvement of her condition.

"Still comatose," she sighed. "I don't understand. She should have been better by now. The healer told me…" the rest of her sentence disappeared in a long drawn exhale.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offered awkwardly.

Abigail flashed him a grateful little smile. He usually wasn't the consoling type, so the fact that he actually offered to listen to her self-loathing without giving it a second thought was something that warmed her heart. Nevertheless she had to decline. "No, I'd rather not. The more I talk about it, the more frustrated I get."

"As you wish," he said, busying himself with the preparations of his experiment again.

"So how were the little brats today? Exceedingly annoying or only mildly so?" she asked trying to lighten the mood.

He scowled.

"That bad?" she laughed.

"You have no idea," Severus stated darkly, meticulously positioned the various ingredients next to the cauldron in the order he would need them the next morning.

"Oh, let me guess," she closed her eyes. "Explosion, right?"

"If only," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Worse than that, eh?"

"Roberts caused a chemical reaction that coloured half of the class pink."

She let out a loud laugh. "Really?"

He just glared.

"How long until it wears off?"

"Until tomorrow morning."

"Well, apparently you were lucky. I don't think pink's your colour."

"You don't say."

"Oh, loosen up a little! It's actually kind of funny."

"I have trouble finding Roberts' stupidity amusing."

"Trust me you will sooner or later. He's a sixth year, isn't he? Pink doesn't exactly make the ladies swoon," she grinned mischievously.

The right corner of his mouth twitched.

"See," Abby commented triumphantly.

"How long till you're finished here?" she added after watching him silently for a while.

"Depends whether you keep distracting me or not."

"What if I stop?"

"Two minutes."

"And if I continue?" she teased.

He sighed. "Too much coffee again?"

"Maybe."

She fell silent. However, not speaking required her to keep herself busy doing something else, so she started casually wandering about the classroom.

"I'm done here," he announced after a good while.

"Took you long enough," she joked. "So what now?"

"I didn't expect you."

"What would you have done if I hadn't decided to stop by?"

"The truth?" he asked.

"Of course," she nodded vigorously.

"Firewhiskey."

"You were going to get pissed? Tsk tsk tsk."

"No, I was merely going to have a glass of it," he corrected.

"Sure."

"Well?" he asked, impatient to finally leave the potions classroom behind.

"Count me in. So where to?"

"My quarters."

She just nodded, trying to hide her surprise. He had never invited her to his quarters. Whenever she had come to visit him at Hogwarts they had always ended up going to Hogsmeade.

They silently made their way through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts. He was leading her deeper and deeper into the dungeons of the castle. By now she had let go of all hope she would ever manage to find her way back on her own.

"Are we there yet?" she mockingly asked him after a while.

"It's just around the next corner," he answered, failing to notice the irony behind her remark.

As promised, the entrance to his chambers was just around the corner. He produced his key and unlocked the door, while muttering some incantation under his breath that she could only catch a few shreds of. Upon seeing her look at him questioningly, he quickly explained, "I've set up a couple of wards just in case."

"Just in case Roberts wants to colour your bed sheets pink?"

"No, some of my old friends decide to drop by." He looked at her disapprovingly.

"Right. Sorry," she quickly said, fully aware and suitably embarrassed that she had put her foot in it once again.

He threw the door open and entered the room before her, not bothering to let her step in first. She had learned that when it came to etiquette he just didn't bother most of the time, though he was probably intimately familiar with it, judging by the polished manners he could sometimes display if he was in the mood.

With a simple wave of his wand, the flames inside the fireplace sprang to live. He brushed off his coat, carelessly throwing it over the old-fashioned couch in front of the fireplace. After briefly nodding at her, suggesting wordlessly she should make herself comfortable, he left the room to fetch the promised Firewhiskey.

It didn't come as much of a surprise to her that the predominating colours inside his quarters were dark ones or that they were only spartanly furnished. There were no pictures on the walls and no other personal objects to reveal anything about the inhabitant of this room - except the open book that was lying carelessly discarded on the sofa next to the fireplace - probably just some minor slip up. She carefully took it in her hands, turning it over to read its cover, without losing the page it was opened at.

Of course out of all the books she suggested to him he'd read Byron first. She put the book back where it belonged, just when he returned from the adjoining room with a glass of Firewhiskey in each hand. The amber liquid was swivelling ever so slightly inside the tumbler when he offered it to her.

She took it from him gratefully, not being able to let the chance pass by to comment on his reading taste. "You shouldn't start with Byron, you know."

"Why?"

"Because even compared to Rossetti and Shelley, it's not exactly cheery."

"I'm seldom in the mood for cheery books."

"So I've noticed, sunshine," she teased him.

He just growled in response, which only elicited amused laughter from her.

"Seriously, Severus, doesn't a book like that put you down after you already had a rough day? Byron always makes me feel sort of depressed."

"Not particularly."

"So what impression does it leave on you? Any impression at all?"

He shrugged. "It's a quite skilfully written book, but nevertheless just fiction."

"Just fiction?" she gaped at him. Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say. "Just fiction, I see…Those are the thoughts, dreams of a person crystallized in one piece of writing. A brilliant person while we're at it. And you call it 'just fiction'? It's a piece of art. Writing takes passion, imagination. To appreciate it properly one also needs a passion and imagination as well. Of course a certain amount of sympathy for the character or at least the author is also vital."

"As always you're obnoxiously enthusiastic. You don't have to be a poet to appreciate poetry."

"True. But if you think a poet is just someone who strings together nice rhyming words, a poem is wasted on you."

"I agree."

"You do?!"

"Yes."

"So why Byron then?"

"Didn't you say something about sympathy before? Well, I sympathize with him."

He motioned her to sit down on the sofa and he did so as well, stretching his long legs in front of the fire. The distance he had put between them was achingly ridiculous. He was sitting at one end of the sofa, while she was sitting at the other. She threw him a mocking sideways glance, which he caught of course, only to then continue staring into the flames afterwards. His lack of attention unnerved her, so she scooted over to where he was sitting, trying to at least make her physical presence known. He shot her a perplexed sideway glance, but didn't say anything.

"Why do you sympathize with him?" she said again after awhile.

"I don't know," he shrugged. Somehow she had the sneaking suspicion he was only stalling.

"You don't know or you don't want to tell me?"

"Pick one."

She frowned, taking another sip of her Firewhiskey.

Her apparent displeasure didn't escape his notice. It was just that he sometimes had trouble talking about himself, let alone his feelings. He had already been reserved before his time as a Death Eater and before working as Dumbledore's spy. Now he sometimes felt like he couldn't talk about personal things at all. Questions made him close up. Intimacy made him feel uncomfortable. He'd rather lash out than talk about personal things, but he always felt sorry after he had treated her unfairly. He always felt the need to fix things afterwards.

"The world he describes, this dark place…it seems familiar," he said after a while.

"Tragic heroes, love that causes despair… Is the world you live in really that dark a place?" She looked at him pensively.

He hesitated. "Maybe."

"Very cryptic."

"It's difficult."

"Why? It doesn't have to be. You could just tell me."

"I could tell you and you wouldn't judge me for the things I did?" He looked at her with a sceptically raised eyebrow.

"I'm your friend."

He let out a humourless snort.

"What's so funny about that?" she enquired sounding a tad offended.

"You're naïve."

She frowned. "Why does wanting to be your friend make me naïve all of a sudden?"

"Do you really want me to explain?" he looked sharply at her.

She only nodded in response.

"There is only so much a friendship can take. Though we humans are capable of noble sentiments and self-sacrificing deeds, ultimately we are all egoists. Sooner or later we all tire of things that are too taxing or complicated. Everything has its limits – even a friendship."

"So you're just assuming our friendship won't survive you confessing all your dark, dark secrets," she crossed her arms over her chest defiantly.

Instead of fuming with anger at her remark, he just sat there staring into the flames with a vacant expression on his face, which incensed her even further.

"You don't get it, do you? You're not just some guy I randomly hang out with whenever I get bored. You're special to me." She looked down into her tumbler, avoiding his gaze. "And nothing is going to change that," Abby added more quietly.

"You say that now," he said after a while. Her loyalty was shocking to him and throwing him off balance.

"Just tell me."

"Why?"

"It will make you feel better if you do."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, but maybe it's worth giving it a shot. Don't you think?"

Instead of an answer, he fell silent again. The occasional crackling of the burning pieces of wood was the only sound to be heard inside the room. The longer his silence lasted, however, the more unbearable it became to her. Just when she thought she couldn't stand it anymore, he finally opened his mouth to speak.

"I killed someone," he sounded exhausted, as if uttering those few words cost him immense strength.

She had already known that, but hearing it from his lips gave it an entirely different level of reality. Each of his words felt like a punch to her stomach. "Yes," she said finally and that was about all she could get out at this point.

"He asked me to do it and I did. I'd like to say I had no choice, because he made me swear an Unbreakable Vow." His eyes had a faraway quality to them. "But even those vows can be broken. There's always a choice."

"I…" Abby started, then fell silent again. She shook her head in frustration. It was situations like this, she felt completely useless. She wanted to be able to say something to comfort him, but however much she was wracking her brain for the right words to say, they just wouldn't come. Sometimes language was frustratingly inadequate for expressing one's feelings. But she wanted to do or say something to make him know she was there for him.

After a brief moment of internal debate she finally did what her impulses had been telling her all along. After having disposed of her glass, she reached out and took his hand into hers. It was ice cold. His face or voice never betrayed his emotions, but not even he could wilfully regulate his body temperature. Was he scared? Sad? Angry? Desperate? She couldn't tell, but she sure wished she could.

"What are you doing?" he asked in alarm.

"Holding hands," she said softly.

At this point he could have withdrawn his hand, but he didn't. He couldn't. It felt too good. Her warmth was slowly seeping into his skin, while her fingers were rubbing over the back of his hand.

"They're icy," she said, holding first his left hand, then his right, between her palms.

"Yes," he said simply. "How can yours be so warm?" It was a nonsensical question - not very much like him. Intimacy made him nervous.

"Firewhiskey. I always get warm hands when I drink."

"I see."

"This makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it?" she said pointedly looking at their entwined hands.

"No."

"You're lying," she said.

"Maybe."

"Do you want me to stop?"

No hesitance this time. "No."

She smiled. Her thumb slowly caressed the back of his hand.

"I just didn't expect this," he said, letting out a shuddering exhale. The cracks in his armour were starting to spread, with each second she held his hand.

"What did you expect?" Abigail asked softly.

"I don't know. That you'd get up and leave and never talk to me again," he admitted quietly. This was one rare moments of absolute honesty. She savoured it.

"I told you I wouldn't."

"Still…After all that I've done…"

"In the past."

"But…"

"I think I've come to know you quite well now. You're irritating, sarcastic, brash, sometimes even cynic, but you're far too fascinating to just walk away from."

"I'm a murderer. Not some kind of knight in shining armour," he said darkly.

"Yes…I'm well aware of that," she said after a while. His honesty was matter-of-fact and brutal like falling and hitting concrete. "But…"

"There are no 'buts'. You will have to deal with that."

"Yes," Abigail said again. This time more pensively. "Doesn't it matter why you did it though?"

"The result is always the same. I killed a man." His black eyes bore into her face. She couldn't stand holding his gaze for too long. In the end she had to look away. Her eyes, after having wandering around nervously for awhile, settled on their entwined hands instead.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, licking her lips nervously. Her palms were getting sweaty. She rubbed them against her jeans before she took his hand again. "I wish I could…do or say anything to make it better."

He said nothing, just laid his hand on top of hers and gave it a soft squeeze. His fingers were long and slender, just the sort of hands you would expect from a Potions Master: short, neat fingernails, a callus at his middle finger that probably came from too much writing with a quill. She loved his hands. Her eyes wandered up to his face. Hooked nose, black eyes, two deep lines around his mouth. She knew that face so well. It had long lost that look of severity and arrogance to her.

"You know, when I first met you I thought you were the most horrible person on earth," she said softly.

He let out a mirthless chuckle. "Really? Whatever made you think that?"

"Prejudice? My past…Well, I judged you before I even got to know you. Because you're not…you're not the most horrible person on earth. Far from it."

He said nothing. Instead he reached out to brush a strain of hair from her face that had fallen out of her gradually dissolving ponytail. His fingers brushed over her cheek. Her eyes met his.

"Stop that," she said reluctantly.

"Why?" His fingers continued to stroke the side of her face. Their touch was reverent and infinitely tender.

"You're going to make me cry."

"I don't want to make you cry," his voice was soft and low. Their conversation had turned into something hushed and intimate. The meaning of the words spoken reached beyond their plain face value.

"I know," her voice quivered ever so slightly. "But you will nevertheless." She met his eyes and was shocked to find that for once he didn't care to hide his emotions from her. The look he threw her was neither taxing nor mocking. For once there was nothing standing between them.

A sudden realization struck him, as he was looking into her eyes. It had always been a mystery to him, how she could be so emotional and yet so strong at the same time. Now he understood her, understood what kind of person she really was. He couldn't help but say it out loud.

"Underneath it all, you're fragile," his choice of that adjective to describe her had something rare and poetic to it. She didn't feel offended. How could she be when it sounded like he was talking about a beautiful and delicate flower?

"And you're not?" Abby asked softly.

He didn't answer. Instead his fingers continued caressing her face. They traced her cheek tenderly. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes

"Abby?" he asked softly after awhile.

"Yes," the one word that was her answer, was swimming on a long exhale.

"Would you terribly mind…," he paused to gather his courage, "Would you terribly mind if I kissed you?"

Her eyes flew open. She smiled, then shook her head.

He softly tugged at her hand, motioning her to come closer. The smile was still on her face. As long as it was in place he knew that he had done no wrong.

Now their noses were almost touching. She looked at him expectantly. He needed a moment to gather all his courage to do this. Her sudden proximity made his heart race and his head spin. Her soft, warm breath was tickling his skin. He was no longer able to form a coherent thought, other than 'I'm going to kiss her.'

His lips descended on hers, slowly almost hesitantly. Their first touch was featherlike and tender and quickly replaced by another kiss that was longer and less tentative. What was that feeling? It was making his mind foggy as if he was utterly inebriated.

"You're intoxicating," he whispered into her ear in between kisses.

The velvety quality of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. "Do you have any idea what that voice of yours does to me?" she asked tenderly nuzzling his cheek.

Before their kisses had been innocent and sweet, but now all of their restraints were gone. Weeks of suppressed sexual tension were to thank for that. Her lips felt hot against his. He was dimly aware of her hands roaming through his hair and more acutely of her body pressed against his. She had subtly shifted position and was now practically sitting in his lap. He didn't mind. For his taste she still wasn't close enough.

He tried to deepen the kiss. Their noses bumped. He felt utterly mortified for being so clumsy and was about to apologize profusely, then she just giggled, shook her head and kissed him again. All went well for a while, but both of them were too eager. Their teeth clashed. She broke away from him, now genuinely laughing. She expected him to find their mishap equally amusing, but unfortunately he didn't.

The expression on his face had turned sour. Since his teenage years he was quite sensitive about being laughed at. Nothing was more offensive to him.

"Oh, come on! Don't look at me like that. It just means we've got a lot of practising to do. I hope that prospect isn't too daunting to you."

The bitter streak around his mouth disappeared. Of course, she hadn't been laughing at him. He was very quick to jump to the wrong conclusion. "No, of course it isn't. I'm sorry."

tbc


	6. Incoherence

_The first part was betaed by __**antisocialite**__. She's a brilliant beta and shouldn't be blamed for all those spelling and grammar atrocities I must have committed writing the rest of the chapter. _

_"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love."__** Neil Gaiman**_

Avada Kedavra," she finally said with a shaky voice. A green flash shot out of her wand, engulfing the poor little mouse at her feet that was squirming in agony. After having been hit by her spell, it just lay there, completely still, its limbs twisted in an odd ankle. She sniffled, then could no longer suppress her tears and let out a hiccupping sob. The wand slipped from her fingers and fell on the floor with a loud clatter.

She could not do this. It was simply too much. It was one thing reading books about the Dark Arts, but actually performing those spells, well, that was just plain unthinkable. She didn't even kill spiders for Christ's sake! She was one of those people who scooped them up in her hand to release them into the garden. Sometimes she even gave them names and peacefully coexisted with them inside her flat. Yes, of course, she was aware of completely acting like Miss Goody Two Shoes, but she just couldn't bring herself to squish them with a rolled up newspaper.

Hypocrite! She was such a goddamned hypocrite! There she sat sobbing her heart out over a dead mouse and while she had sworn eternal vengeance to the two Death Eaters who were responsible for putting her aunt into a coma. If she already had trouble killing a mouse, she surely wouldn't be able to kill a human being. But she had to be sure about what she did. She couldn't afford making any mistakes or she would be dead in a blink of an eye. Those two bastards were clever and they had even been able to better her aunt. What she lacked in skills she had to make up in determination. Of course, being well-prepared was also essential.

When she raised her head, the dead mouse was still lying there motionless. She couldn't help it. She still felt sorry for it. New tears were welling up in her eyes. It was better if she shed them all now, because later would be neither the time nor the place for remorse.

* * *

He was still bent over the forth years' essays on the various uses of grounded scarab beetle, when he heard her knock at the door. She was early. He quickly laid his quill aside to open the door for her. It swung open revealing a puffy eyed young woman who was looking at him somewhat insecurely.

"What happened?" he asked instead of a greeting.

"Nothing," Abby said sniffling a little.

He softly grabbed her by the sleeve of her coat and dragged her inside the room. He'd rather not discuss this in the corridor. "Sure. Try again."

"Really. It's nothing. I'm perfectly alright."

He raised his eyebrow at her. "I didn't know that perfectly alright also included crying your heart out."

"I haven't cry my heart out," she snapped.

"Well, this sudden change of roles sure is amusing. But if I recall correctly, I'm usually the irritable one," it was one of his seldom attempts at sarcasm free humour, but unfortunately it was completely lost on her at the moment.

She raised her chin stubbornly, turning her head to stare past him. Fine, so she wasn't in the mood to talk.

"Sit," he ordered brusquely, indicating the chair that was standing opposite of his on the other side of the desk. She did so reluctantly, crossing her arms over her chest, while he busied himself with the grading essays again.

For awhile the only sounds inside the room was the rustling of paper and the sound of his quill as it left determined lines of red ink on it. Finally she spoke again "Severus?"

"Yes."

"Can we talk?"

He sighed. "We could have talked a few minutes ago."

"This isn't easy for me…"

"I've noticed," he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

"You won't like this."

"I assumed as much from the beginning."

"It isn't about us."

"Good. Reassuring even. So what is it about?" His voice was emotionless and offensively matter-of-fact, which miffed her a little bit.

"It's about me. Me and my aunt," she sighed, running her hand through her hair. There was a cut on her palm. It was fresh and angry red.

His chair screeched loudly, as it was pushed back abruptly. "You've been using blood magic." In the blink of an eye he had glided around the table and captured her wrist in his hand, dragging her to her feet in the process. He inspected the wound curiously, then looked at her, his eyes dark and piercing.

"Yes," she said hesitantly. There was no use denying it.

"You should know it's extremely dangerous. One little miscalculation and the consequences could be dire." His long fingers were still firmly wrapped around her wrist. Though his touch wasn't brutal, it wasn't exactly pleasant either.

"I'm aware of that."

"So why have you been messing with things you clearly should not have been messing with?" he hissed at her.

What was she supposed to answer to that? Maybe that she wanted revenge? Saying it in his face, seemed so utterly ridiculous now, but then again it had been constantly occupying her thoughts in the last couple of months. Except for the time she had spent with him. Except for that. When she was with him it didn't seem to matter anymore.

"I want revenge," she finally confessed, almost embarrassedly.

He let her hand drop as if he had been burned and took a step back, peering at her sternly.

"Don't you understand?" she pleaded with him. "They never did anything about it. They never even moved a finger to catch the people who did this to her!"

"Even if you'd be able to find them, they'd kill you in a heartbeat."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"Let's just say it strikes me as a very bad idea. You're not exactly an expert when it comes to spells. Not to speak of the Dark Arts. It takes years to fully master them."

"I've been practising," she said defiantly.

"They've been killing," he retorted.

"What do you expect me to do? Just sit around idly, while they are still at large?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I expect you to do," he took a step towards her. She retreated. "Let someone else take care of it."

"Who? There's no one else but me."

"What about the Aurors or the Ministry?"

"I've already tried. They won't do anything about it."

"I won't let you do it." He had her backed against the wall now, there was no way out for her.

"You don't understand," she tried to reason with him.

He regarded her, tilting his head to the left. His movements had something positively serpentine to it. "Explain."

"She was the one who always so supported me. How do you think I could afford opening a bookshop in Diagon Alley? Only because she leant me the money, that's why. She always believed in me, no matter how stupid or crazy my plans seemed at first."

"Abigail, you will not do this! No matter what you tell me. No matter what heart-warming tell you drag out into the open! It doesn't matter. I won't let you," his eyes were sparkling dangerously now. "Promise me you won't do it. Promise me!" His voice was demanding, unheeding of any protest.

"I can't."

"You must."

"I can't," she repeated more insistently. "Don't you understand? This is something I have to do. If I don't, it will feel like I'm letting her down."

"Why? Why do you want revenge? There's no satisfaction to be had from it. It doesn't turn back the clock, it doesn't undo injustice. Nothing can. Do you honestly believe it will make you feel any better?"

"You can't talk me out of it."

His face contorted into a sneer. He pushed off the wall and whirled around, his robes whipping against her legs. After a few angry steps he came to a sudden halt, his body vibrating with suppressed anger. With an angry growled he pushed over the chair she had been sitting in moments ago.

She watched him anxiously, glued to her spot leaning against the wall. He was breathing heavily, his hands flexing and unflexing. When he had finally calmed a little, he turned around again. The expression on his face was unreadable. The absolute lack of emotion she saw there was frightening her a little.

"Let me come with you."

"No."

"Abigail," he snarled, having finally reached to the end of his tether.

"I don't want you to do anything that will weigh on your conscience. You already have enough to deal with," her tone was matter-of-factly.

"It also will weigh heavily on my conscience if you're dead."

"This is not your fight."

"How could it not be when you're involved?"

"Severus…," she said exasperatedly.

"Abigail…"

"Just promise me you will tell me once you know their whereabouts. I don't want you to go on your own."

"And what will you do there?"

"Watch your back. Make sure you stay alive," he suggested.

"That's too much to ask. I can't expect you to…"

"Just ask me to and I will," he interrupted her.

"You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do," he said firmly. "So will you promise to tell me?"

She hesitated. "I don't know."

"Do it already!" he commanded harshly.

"Alright," she whispered, then repeated it again a little louder. "Alright."

"Good."

"I'm sorry to drag you into this."

"I thought we've already been over this," he rolled his eyes in irritation. "You're not dragging me into this. I want to help you."

She offered him a shy smile. "When did you suddenly become so nice?"

He let out a sarcastic snort. "Oh, please. This is just a plain and simple display of egoism. I just don't want you to get killed."

"Why?"

"I'm very humanitarian," he said smirking at her humourlessly.

"Right," she snorted. "Is that all?"

He pondered her question momentarily. "It's all I'm going to say."

"But…"

"You know as well as I that pestering me with more questions is not only pointless, but also highly annoying. I think we can put both of our time to better use by taking care of your hand," he said neatly evading her next question.

"It's just a cut. Nothing major," she waved him off.

He let out a frustrated growl. He wasn't in the mood for yet another battle of wits, so he simply grabbed her by her intact hand and dragged her after him unceremoniously. Abby was surprised, but protested only mildly.

The potions lab was just through the adjoining door, so they didn't have to go far. He let go off her hand and motioned her to sit on the wooden stool that was standing next to the work bench, before he busied himself looking for the flask with the cut-healing ointment. It didn't take long for him to find it. Every potion was neatly labelled and he always put them back in their place whenever he had used them. Disorder was something he hated passionately.

She extended her hurt hand to him willingly, looking positively innocent and lamblike, but he knew for a fact that she wasn't. He dipped his fingertips into the ointment and started rubbing it carefully onto her skin. Slow circular motions, minimal pressure.

"Better now?"

"Yes, thank you," she said softly, looking at him from under her eyelashes. He was yet to let go of her hand.

They both stayed like that for a moment motionlessly. Two days had passed since they had last seen each other. Two days since their first kiss. It was a delicate moment. In a way decisive, because they would have to acknowledge what had happened before. Another kiss would bring them closer to something akin to a real relationship, making it impossible for them to wave off their actions as a temporary folly. If they let the moment pass, they might possibly regret it later. A lot of things would have to be reconsidered, they'd have to talk. There would be disillusionment and frustration – ghastly things.

He didn't know what had come over him, maybe the last remnants of fading anger or maybe it was simply the thought of losing her that made him to kiss her again. He usually wasn't the type to make the first move. Actually, when it came to relationship he had yet to find out how he'd react to certain things – to a lot of things.

If she had needed any reaffirmation that what had happened two days ago wasn't just some foggy day dream, she had made up because she had an utter crush on him, this would have probably been it. This time his kiss was neither awkward nor hesitant. The clumsiness from before was gone, replaced by a lot more self-assuredness and intent. He was enjoying kissing her. His usual façade of detachment was slipping, revealing what lay underneath - raw, intense emotions that had been buried for years, only to emerge stronger than before. For once he did not hold back, did not hide behind lies. He wanted her, desired her even and all that poured into the kiss. It was making her feel a little dizzy, amazed, mesmerized and above all ecstatic.

She was breathless when he finally drew back a little, his long fingers still tangled in her hair.

"You're uncharacteristically silent all of a sudden," he said with a smug grin on his face.

"Well, I…," she blinked a couple of times. It felt like her vision had gone foggy. "I'm just surprised. Yes, that's it. Remember what I said about us having to practise? Well, you've just proofed that we certainly don't need it, though it would be fun, most definitely."

"Only fun?" he raised an eyebrow. Apparently he was enjoying himself far too much.

"Are you teasing me?" she laughed.

"What if I am?"

"I don't know? I suppose hell would freeze over, we would have to start thinking about investing our money in asbestos umbrellas, because of the oncoming rain of fire and what not. The sky would most likely darken…Oh, and there would be lots of frogs and crickets. Definitely crickets as well. It just wouldn't be a proper apocalypse without them, right?"

"Is there a reason why you're suddenly talking all this nonsense?"

"You're making me sort of giddy, I guess," she admitted, blushing a little. "Is that a crime? Are you going to start taking House points now?"

"Don't be ridiculous! You're not a student. You don't even have a House," he pointed out.

"Right. Besides considering my father was a Slytherin, it would probably mean taking points from your own House anyway," she pointed out.

"Personally, my bet would be Ravenclaw."

"You know I'm beginning to become offended."

"Because I've called you a Ravenclaw? Not everybody can be a Slytherin," he said with a certain malicious satisfaction.

"No, because you're still frighteningly coherent, which means I probably didn't snog you right."

"I doubt you can manage making me incoherent with just a kiss."

"Severus, how many times in your life have you been snogged senseless, honestly?"

"Not a lot," his voice was positively chill when he said that. The lack of emotion he displayed, the fact that he didn't even seem to regret having missed out on that experience, told her a lot more about him than he had probably wanted to tell her. Had he never made out with a girl when he was a teenager? Never snuck off to some dark corner to plant a good one on the girl he fancied? No, it was Severus Snape she was talking about. He probably hadn't. She could just imagine him as a teenager. The same sort of scowl on his face, lanky, slender, mostly consistent of bony knees and elbows. His particular charms worked on her, but she could imagine that regular teenage girls didn't exactly swoon over broody, complicated and sarcastic. But she sure did.

"I like a good challenge," she threw him a mysterious little half smile, then got to her feet.

"What are you up to?" he asked worriedly.

"I told you. Snogging you senseless," she placed her hands on his chest, her fingers softly digging into the material his robes. She slowly pulled him closer.

A weak protest along the lines of "don't be silly" was all he was capable of. He let it happen, mainly because he was immensely curious of the outcome.

She nuzzled his face, rubbing her cheek against his. Only the slightest trace of stubble there. She turned her head ever so slightly. Her hot breath fanned against his cool skin and made it prickle. Then her lips descended on it, slowly working its way to his mouth.

"You're cheating," he whispered, his voice velvety and low.

"This isn't cheating. This is doing it properly."

She teasingly kissed him, grazing his bottom lip with her teeth ever so slightly when she drew back, which elicited a sharp intake of breath. Her fingers were caressing the sides of his face. Featherlike touches that made the hair at the back of his neck stand up. He knew all too well what she was doing. She was tempting him to the point until he could no longer resist her. His chances were slim at best. Right from the start, from the moment he had first met her, he had never been able to say 'no' to her.

The next kiss was longer. Her lips were caressing his tenderly, but above all sensually. When her fingers started stroking the nape of his neck his breaking point was reached. What happened after he could only describe in terms of sensations. How her lips had felt against his, how she had thrown him those little smiles in between kisses that let his insides tingle.

"Still feeling coherent?" Abby asked with a lazy smile afterwards.

"Not now. No."

"Good." She grinned contently.

tbc


	7. Falling Away From Me

**UN-BETAED**

_Twas sad I kissed away her tears  
Her arms around me clinging  
When to my ears that fateful shot  
Come out the wildwood ringing  
The bullet pierced my true love's breast  
In life's young spring so early  
And there upon my breast she died  
While soft winds shook the barley  
I bore her to some mountain stream  
And many's the summer blossom  
I placed with branches soft and green  
About her gore-stained bosom  
I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse  
Then rushed o'er vale and valley  
My vengeance on the foe to wreak  
While soft winds shook the barley  
__**The Wind that Shook the Barley by Robert Dwyer Joyce**_

"The Black Spider. Knockturn Alley," the note read. She blanched. Her heart was pounding inside her chest anxiously when she re-read it a second time. That was it. It was now or never. The moment she had been waiting for.

"Leave!" she called out to her only customer, Mrs. Weatherly, an elderly woman who often dropped by to stock up her supplies on romance novels.

"But…" Mrs. Weatherly protested, huffing and puffing in outrage.

"I'm sorry, but you have to leave now."

"My dear, what's suddenly come over you?"

"I said leave. Now!" She barked, practically shoving her out of the door. The other woman was just about to turn around and give her a piece of her mind, when she pulled the door closed behind her energetically. The blinds rushed down and made her outraged, blotchy face disappear. Abby had other things to care about right now.

She frantically scribbled a note and tied it to the leg of her howl. The bird seemed to throw her one last reproachful look, before she ushered it out of the window with the words: "Don't look at me like that! Off you go!" It was clearly offended when it took of, but that was one of her lesser concerns. She was already storming into her office to collect her bag. She couldn't afford to lose any time or they would be gone.

She Disapparated right in front of the Black Spider, her palms sweaty, her stomach feeling queasy. The Black Spider one of those infamous little bars in Knockturn Alley, where all the scum of the Wizarding World gathered. Her hand hovered over the door handle indecisively for a moment, before she finally pressed it down and entered. Touching the brass was like getting a frost bite. She could still feel the cold metal against her skin long after she had let go.

A dozen of heads turned her way when she entered. Conversation paused momentarily, just long enough for everybody to eye her curiously, then continued again as abruptly as it had stopped. For once she had been wise enough to wear her robes, instead of Muggle clothes. She didn't want to draw too much attention to herself.

The place was every bit as sleazy as she had expected. The floor was sticky and discarded peanut shells were crunched under her boots when she crossed the bar. The faint aroma of Butterbeer, Firewhisky mingled with sweat was lying in the air.

Her eyes nervously scanned the crowd. Hopefully, her source had been right. She finally spotted them in the booth next to the bar and determinedly made her way over. After having gracefully slipped into the empty seat opposite of them, she managed a rather convincing "Hello, boys." They exchanged the greeting with an added leer, ogling her from head to toe. She already felt dirty.

"What does a nice girl like you do in a place like this?" Avery drawled at her. His features were coarse and he had hands like shovels. Hands that could doubtlessly snap her like a twig. She gulped. All in all they were thoroughly unpleasant fellows.

"Who says I'm a nice girl?" she had to force a seductive grin. Her instincts screamed at her to get up and leave, but she ignored them.

Apparently the flirting did its desired effect. Tennyson, the more pleasant one of the two, though the choice between them was rather moving along the lines of out of the frying pan into the fire, grinned at her. His eyes had a mad sparkle to them and his unruly brown hair was sticking out in every direction. "You've come to the right place then. They've got the best Butterbeer in town."

"I don't really mind what I drink as long as it's alcoholic," she smiled sweetly. The first true statement she had made since she stepped foot inside that bar. She put her forearms on the table, shifting to the edge of her seat, so that she afforded the two men a good look at her cleavage.

Tennyson gave his friend a soft nudge in the rips. "Let me get one for you," Avery said, getting up reluctantly.

"So, what you're really doing here?" Tennyson asked after his friend had left, eying her suspiciously

"What do you think?" she said evenly, tapping her fingers on the table.

"The way I see it there are two kinds of women who come to a place like this: the ugly ones that blend in nicely with the crowd and the pretty ones that are looking for company," he said leaning back into his seat, as he regarded her taxingly. The leather bolstering of the bench was squeaking a little when he shifted his weight.

"What if I was looking for company? Would that be a crime?" she said, tracing her neckline with her fingers. They were a bit jittery, but he wasn't watching her hand anyway.

"If you were…Well, then I'd suggest we wait for my friend to return and disappear off to some nice quiet place where we won't be interrupted."

"Good," she nodded slowly pretending to give his suggestion some thought. The idea alone of getting intimate with him, let alone with his friend Avery, made her feel nauseous. "But a threesome? Well, that's going to cost you, mate."

"Oh, you've got me all wrong, Missy. I not one for leftovers. I want to have my way with you first before I let Avery have a go."

"Ten Galleons each," she said coolly, though she was inwardly recoiling. Also the word "recoiling" was a euphemism for feeling sick to her stomach.

Avery returned with a pint of beer and she gratefully took it from his hands. The two men watched her interestedly as she downed the whole glass in a few seconds.

"Impressive," Avery commented.

"You seem sort of tense, luv. Your first time?" Tennyson wanted to know. Obviously he was the brain of those two.

"Almost," she said, trying hard to fight down her nausea.

Severus…how she wished he was there now to talk her out of this, but the chances that he would be walking through that door were comparatively slim. She owled him. It would take some time until he turned up here and maybe that wasn't so bad after all. In retrospect it was really a rather stupid idea to get him involved in the first place, not to mention that it would be extremely dangerous for him to come here. There were probably a lot of former Death Eaters. If they had read what had been written in the papers about him, about him being Dumbledore's spy, this was the last place he should let himself be seen. But she knew him. He wouldn't do anything tremendously stupid like that anyway. That thought alone was already a small relief.

Abigail looked at the two men sitting opposite of her. She didn't want them to grow impatient. "So what about that nice and quiet place you suggested? Just so you know I can't afford to wander off too far…"

"Alright," said Avery.

"Why?" Tennyson asked immediately.

"Why do you think, lover?" She regarded him with her head tilted a little to the left.

"You got a watchdog?"

"You're a clever one. Got it right in one guess."

Tennyson threw her a lopsided grin, revealing two sharp and white incisors that gave him a positively predatory look. "So the back alley it is then. Not very classy, but it's got to do under the circumstances."

"My lady," he motioned at the back door that was a few steps from their boot. She slowly got to her feet and slung her back over her shoulder. Deep down she didn't want to do this. She wanted to be anywhere else but here, but she had a debt, a debt to her aunt, though she highly doubted that she would want her to expose herself to a danger like this. But who would take care of them, if not her? Surely not the Ministry.

At had all been so easy up until this point. Easy to tell them a bunch of lies and chat them up, but now it was starting to get complicated. Fortunately, she was the first to step out into the alley behind the Black Spider. It was dirty. Paper was flying on the wind and the aroma of decaying garbage was wafting out of overflowing dustbins. The afternoon sun was about to set and was casting a few last feeble rays on the alley.

She reached into her bag. The feeling of cold metal against her hand was strangely reassuring. She hesitated for a second before she whipped around, the gun in her hand. It was regarded as the ultimate cowardice in the Wizarding World to bring a Muggle weapon to a fight, but the odds weren't exactly in her favour. Two against one.

She didn't waste her time explaining who she was or why she wanted to kill them. She fired of her gun aiming at Tennyson's right hand. The hand that was already reaching for his wand. The shot didn't made any noise, she had been smart enough to cast a Mufflatio spell on the gun beforehand, but the bullet hit his flesh with a sickening wet sound that was still echoing in her ears minutes later. He let out a shrill cry.

Having discarded the gun, it had already done its purpose, she produced her own wand. In the meantime Avery had recovered from his initial shock and fired a spell at her. The bright green bolt shot towards her and she had just enough time to shout a frantic "Protego!" before it reached her. It hit her shield charm and angrily flickered one last time before it dissolved.

"Who are you, bitch?" Tennyson screamed, holding his bloody hand.

Abigail ignored him. Talking would only distract her. In Muggle movies bad guys always ended up dying once they started explaining their motives. She had no death wish.

"Stupefy," she screamed, directing her wand at Avery. He anticipated her move raising his own shield charm, so the charm bounced off of it ineffectively.

"Is that all you got?" he sneered.

"No," she hissed, feeling anger bubble up inside of her. "Sectumsempra!"

Avery barely managed to jump out of the way of the red energy barb that shot towards him. It grazed his upper arm and left a nasty red gash. She felt a strange satisfaction upon seeing him injured, but didn't allow herself to revel in it for too long.

He was in no position to fire a spell at her and if she didn't want to be faced with the situation of having to battle two opponents at once later on, she'd better take care of him once and for all. Her fingers closed tightly around her wand. The next moments would show whether all her practising had been worth while. She aimed her wand at Avery fully intending to fire off a deadly _Avada Kedavra_ at him. She looked at his face, saw the speechless terror there and knew immediately she couldn't do it. All she was capable of was a hesitant _Stupefy_, which he was quick enough to deflect. Right then and there she knew she was doomed.

Momentarily forgotten, the other man decided to remind her of his presence. "Bitch's got quite a temper,eh? Let's see if we can Crucio it out of her. What do you think, Avery?" Tennyson drawled. His injured hand was hanging limply at his side, dripping blood, while the other was firmly holding his wand. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized what was about to happen.

"You're lucky, I'm not left-handed, so I guess my Crucio won't sting as bad, but Avery's on the other hand…"

Her fingers closed tightly around her own wand. She was aware she couldn't hold them off both, but she would try anyway.

She was able to deflect Tennyson's spell, but Avery's Crucio hit her full force. The concrete floor rushed closer. For a moment she was seeing stars. She had never been hit by a Crucio, so she naively assumed that this was it, this was all that was going to happen, but she was soon to realize her mistake.

It was as if her own body had become her enemy. Tremors were coursing through her while her limbs started twisting uncontrollably. She screamed in agony when she felt the joints of her left knee pop. The muscles of her hand were twitching. The wand rolled from her slack fingers, which seconds later curled up into a fist so tight, her fingernails were painfully dug into her skin.

A huge shadow fell on her. "Ready for another round?" she dimly recognized Avery's voice. Tennyson's evil snigger came from somewhere in the background.

Her eyes were teary. She could only perceive her surroundings in terms of blotchy colours and blurry contours. The second before the next Crucio hit her, she felt a sharp sting of remorse. Severus had been right. He had been right all along. But it was too late to be sorry now. Just a few more minutes and she would be dead anyway.

The metallic taste of blood was spreading in her mouth. She could feel it trickling from the corners of her mouth. She had bitten her tongue. The sticky substance was slowly creeping down her throat. She couldn't move. Starting to panic, she let out a pitiful gurgling noise. This was how she was going to die. She was going to drown in her own blood.

So that was what good revenge did her. She was lying in a deserted and dirty back alley in a puddle of her own blood and she was going to die. Alone. Unfortunately she only had little time for self-pity. With each passing second the darkness was drawing closer. It was creeping in from the edges of her vision and she couldn't blink it away. The last thing she saw was a dark shadow looming over her.


	8. Both Sides, Now

She awoke with a start. A scream stuck in her throat, her ribcage rising and falling in a frantic rhythm. Ever bone in her body hurt. It hurt to breath, it hurt to swallow, it even hurt to just open her eyes and look around. The dim light of the lamp next to her bed stung her eyes, but her curiosity forced her to take in her surroundings before she closed them again. She was lying on a bed. Clean linen bed sheets. Her hands were so white they almost blended with them.

She heard the rustle of fabric nearby and cautiously turned her head in the direction from which the sound came. A figure was sitting on the chair next to her bed, cloaked in shadows. As he scooted to the edge of his seat to have a better look at her now that she was awake, his identity was revealed.

Severus fixed her with a stern gaze. She hadn't seen this expression on his face for weeks and it probably promised nothing good, but she was nevertheless extremely glad to see him.

"Drink this." A vile reeking potion was shoved under her nose and without much ceremony pressed to her lips. No comforting words, just a bitter medicinal taste in her mouth. She wrinkled her nose in disgust when she had drunken the last drop of whatever potion he saw fit to administer to her.

"Ick! What's this made off? Slug slime? It tastes despicable," she finally managed to get out, her voice raspy from lack of use.

"You don't deserve better," he said matter-of-factly, getting up from his chair next to her bed almost the second she had finished drinking.

"Wait! Where are you going?" she enquired, shocked to see him leaving so abruptly. "Aren't you going to stay?"

"You're not entitled to ask for my company. You've brought this upon yourself," he said before the door fell closed behind him.

She incredulously stared at the closed door for a couple more minutes, before she finally came to realize that he really wasn't going to come back.

She had been unconscious. How much time had passed since then? For all she knew it could have been days since that incident in the back alley behind the Black Spider. Somehow she had managed to come out of it alive. Probably Severus was to thank for that...

Still there were so many blanks to fill, but he quite obviously refused to do it or else he wouldn't have left. The solemn quietude of the room quite effectively drove home the fact that she was sick and entirely dependent on his care. Why he had brought her here if he obviously wanted neither talk to her nor see her was beyond her grasp. Her throat seemed to tighten to the point it felt like she was choking. A single tear, the first of many, ran down her cheek. Crying did nothing to ease her pain. Nevertheless she couldn't bring herself to stop. She led out a pitiful, strangled sob.

After one week under his care she was healthy enough to leave bed. He had spoken little more than two sentences with her in the meantime, but did not fail to provide her with food and potions. Whenever she needed something he was there. He tended to her without fussing, but unfortunately also without much affection. After having taken care of her, he disappeared again as quickly as he had come, leaving her to hang after her own thoughts. She didn't have to think hard to figure out what the implications of his behaviour towards her meant. What concerned her even more though was the thought of what might have happened in that back alley after she passed out. To what expenses did he go to save her? What had happened to Avery and Tennyson? He had never once mentioned them. As a matter of fact he had stubbornly ignored all her questions.

Every waking hour she tortured herself, anxiously pondering what might have happened after she had fallen unconscious. When he was there she was too distracted to do so. Every time he looked at her it was like a punch to the stomach. Those looks he was shooting her weren't exactly loving. They were disapproving, reproachful even. Sometimes she believed she even saw something akin to hatred sparkle in his eyes. It was driving her insane. She could not stay another minute, could not tolerate one more of those looks.

Though her legs were quite shaky, she got out of bed and gathered up her clothes. Given the fact that something as simple as putting her clothes on already left her flushed and sweaty, she could already foresee that her way home would turn out to be even more exhausting. But right now she didn't mind. All that matter was to get out of that godforsaken room, so that she didn't have to endure his quiet wrath anymore.

She took a few slow steps towards the door, supporting herself by holding onto the furniture: the bed, the chair, the dresser. Finally she had reached her destination and pushed down the door handle with a trembling hand. She was wandless, which would make Apparting problematic, but she would worry about that when the occasion arose. For now the most important thing was to get away from here. Well, mostly from him.

The corridor that was stretching out before her was long and dimly lit. Just like all old castles Hogwarts was a rather draughty place. The door fell shut behind her with a bang before she was able to stop it. She was only praying to the heavens that he wasn't anywhere near by and had heard it. On wobbly legs she continued her way down the corridor. She hadn't been able to find her shoes, so she was bare-footed. To any passer-by she would probably be looking like some demented bag lady with her tangled her hair and her wrinkled grey robes. A certain amount of eccentricity was appreciated among wizard folk, but just not that much.

Her surroundings were starting to make sense. That painting to her left looked awfully familiar. She was probably somewhere near the Potions classroom. If she was lucky, Severus would be too busy teaching his 'dunderhead' students to notice her disappearance. The last thing she needed right now was to pump into him on the corridor.

Abigail briefly paused in front of the Potions classroom, anxiously listening whether she could discern any voices, despite of its thick wooden door. She didn't have to strain herself at all. After a brief moment of utter and complete silence, she could hear Severus viciously sneer at a student: "Roberts! Look, what you've done! I thought this was your second year of Potions? Any dimwit knows that Hair-raising Potion is stirred counter clockwise." Apparently he wasn't in the best of moods.

She continued her way with added caution, finally arriving at the bottom of the narrow stairs that led out of the dungeons. The stone steps twisted upwards in front of her like a lengthy grey serpent. She took in a deep breath, before she set her foot on the first grade. The stone felt icy cold underneath her feet. She grimaced when she put her weight on her injured leg. The potions Snape had given her, had mended her disjoint knee, but it was still sore. By the time she had reached the top of the twisted staircase she was drenched in sweat, the woolly fabric of her robes sticking uncomfortably to her back.

The Entrance Hall was lying in front of her. The occasional student was scurrying through it, but most of them were busy attending classes, for which she was thankful. One girl that passed her, apparently a Slytherin judging by the colours of her robes, threw her a rather odd look before she hurried off to the door on the right, behind which the Slytherin common room lay, if Abby remembered corrected. She was relieved to see her go.

She made a few feeble steps towards the big two-winged main gate, eyeing the four giant hourglasses in the niches above her suspiciously. Hogwarts had something about it that sometimes made her feel insignificant and small - merely a footnote in history, and maybe not even that.

She had almost reached the door when she heard his voice.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked. His voice was cutting and icy and practically dripping venom.

"For a walk," she was trying to play it cool, though she had frozen completely the moment she had heard him speak.

She heard his angry footsteps approach from behind her. "Without your wand?"

"It would be much easier if I had it on me, but unfortunately I seem to have misplaced it somewhere," Abby remarked pointedly. Sweat was running down her temples. She quickly wiped it off with the back of her hand. Show no sign of weakness.

"You're not leaving," he stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her escape route. There was a scowl on his face, his eyes were sparkling dangerously. Anybody in his right mind would have run at the sight of him, but she knew him too well by now to be intimidated.

She sighed. "How did you find out I was leaving anyway? Watch-wards?"

"Precisely."

"I see," she raised her chin challengingly, failing entirely to convey any sense of superiority. She was barely able to keep herself upright. The way from the dungeons to the entrance hall had cost her far too much strength. She was swaying ever so slightly. He eyed her with a preoccupied frown on his face.

"You know, I honestly don't get you, Severus. You wanted me gone, I'm going." Abby tried to shrug her shoulders, but even that hurt. She tried to suppress a wince, when the pain shot through her body like a lighting bolt.

"I don't want you gone. I want you safe," he clarified.

"You're not keeping me safe, you're holding me ransom," she retorted acidly, trying to walk past him.

He stepped in her way once again. "You will not leave," he thundered. His voice echoed from the high ceiling of the hall and a student who was just about to make his way to the Slytherin common room froze in terror. Having overcome his fear, he seemed indecisive whether to leave or not. Professor Snape having a shouting match with a woman in the entrance hall was definitely something you didn't see every day.

"Oh, I definitely will," she snarled back, trying once again to continue her way towards the door. Unfortunately she didn't get very far, because she was soon to find out that a surge of adrenaline had a rather devastating effect on an already weakened metabolism. Black dots clouded her vision momentarily, while she was swaying like blade of grass in the breeze. He caught her before she could fall.

She clung to his shoulders for dear life, trying to steady herself. Finally the world came back into focus and with it her ability to assess the situation. She blushed. "So much for making a big exit," she murmured embarrassedly. She wasn't able to let go of him yet. Her knees were still feeling shaky.

"I hope you don't expect any sympathy from me. I'm still angry at you."

"Really?" her lips had reduced to two thin lines and she was panting. Her left knee was hurting again. "It's barely noticeable."

"You're in pain," he observed.

"Clever observation," she sucked in a sharp breath.

He reluctantly slid his arm around her shoulders to steady her. "Do you think you can walk?"

"Yes," she managed to get out. The pain was too strong for her to see the preoccupied glances he was throwing her.

A small group of students had gathered by now. Some of them were even openly gaping. Snape was being chivalrous to a woman. What would come next? Flying pigs?

"And what are you staring at? Don't just stand there like a horde of chimpanzees! This is a school. Don't you have homework to do, lessons to go?" he barked at them, upon which the little gathering quickly dissolved.

His voice softened noticeably when he addressed her again. Somehow his anger had dissolved upon seeing her in pain. "I'm going to take you back to your room."

"No," she protested weakly.

"I doubt Minerva would be pleased if I left you lying around unconsciously in her Entrance Hall. It would shed a very bad light on our school indeed." He was already walking slowly towards that little door to their right that led down to the dungeons and since she was leaning heavily on him for support, had no other choice but to comply.

The way back was long and painful. By the time they had reached their destination her exhaustion had made her indifferent to the circumstances. She was just thankful to be able to rest. He tugged her into bed like a sick child, smoothing her hair back, shooting her a concerned look when his cool palm briefly rested against her forehead. It felt hot. His lips narrowed to a thin straight line. Her stupid little stunt had set back her recovery for at least a week.

"Why won't you let me leave?" she pleaded with him weakly. She looked so small and fragile. Her light brown hair was fanning around her face, each tangled strand clearly visible against the white linen. The fever had given her cheeks some colour. The expression in her usually very lively eyes was vacant and feverish.

He gulped heavily. "I can't," he said finally.

"Please."

Somehow her soft plead unleashed all the underlying anger he had worked hard to suppress in the last couple of days . He got up from the chair next to her bed, willing himself not to start screaming or storm from the room boiling with rage. "You egoistic spoiled, little brat!" he spat out, finally losing his self-control. "Do you think of anyone but yourself?!"

Her perception had been rather foggy before. She had been feeling like she was wrapped in cotton. Everything movement had been slowed, every sound muted. His angry voice, however, cut right through the veil of dizziness. "Excuse me?" Abby looked at him confusedly.

"When I found you, you were barely conscious, lying in a puddle of your own blood. If I had come just one second later…just one second…." She was shocked into silence. She had never seen him that agitated. Normally he tried to maintain a façade of nonchalance. Now he was anything but nonchalant. His chest was rising and falling in quick intervals. His nostrils flared.

She had never thought about what he might have felt upon finding her like that. She lowered her eyes embarrassedly.

"What if I had been too late? Did that thought ever occur to you?"

"But you weren't," she whispered, staring at the blanket, unable to hold his gaze.

Her comment only seemed to incense him further. "But if I had been. Have you even wasted a thought on the consequences of your actions? What if you had died? Did you ever stop to think what your death would have done to me?" He took a step towards her bed. His body was still vibrating with suppressed anger, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry…," was all she managed to get out. Tears were gathering in her eyes, her vision was starting to get blurry. This was worse than his quiet reproach she had endured over the course of the last week. It made her realize how profoundly she had hurt him, despite having the best intentions. She had thought she had been so clever. She thought that she would be able to protect him, but in the end she had only ended up hurting him.

"If they had killed you…" The thought alone let the words die on his lips and his blood run cold.

Abigail was crying in earnest now. "I'm sorry," she repeated over and over again.

Her reaction took him to surprise. For a moment he froze completely, his eyes glued to her face in wonder. Conflicting emotions were battling inside his chest. He remembered how his temper had flared when he had first discovered that she had so carelessly put her life on the line. Anger had overwhelmed him and clouded his judgement. Worrying for her had made his every waking moment a torment. The depth of his emotions had come as a surprise to him. It had been difficult for him to control himself, when he came to face her attackers, but somehow he had been able to muster just enough willpower not to kill them.

It had been like reliving a nightmare. He had remembered the day Lilly had died. It had been almost 19 years ago. Crude reality had slowly faded into a vivid nightmarish memory that had been hunting him ever since. It had stung losing her to Potter, but the pain of knowing that she was dead, irrevocably gone, was something he was still struggling with. And now it had almost happened again. He had almost lost Abigail. Almost, that little word made all the difference in the world. She was still there, still alive.

Severus sat down on the edge of her bed. She stopped chanting her pitiful little mantra and looked at him in wonder, silent tears still streaming down her face. Her eyes were puffy, her nose was running, her cheeks blotchy. Not one of her most attractive moments, but upon looking at her he felt a wave of sympathy wash over him. The anger that had overcome him before, disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling drained and empty.

He reached inside his ropes and produced an old-fashioned handkerchief. It was crisp white linen, his monogram embroidered in the corner. He held it out to her wordlessly. She stretched out her hand to take it, her fingers hovering indecisively in the air for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she said one last time. "I've never wanted to hurt you." Her nose was completely blocked and she was sniffling.

"I know," he sighed.

She took the handkerchief from him with shaky fingers. "Do you hate me?" she asked timidly.

He shot her a surprised look. "I don't hate you," he said softly, too exhausted for sarcasm or defensiveness.

She noisily blew her nose. He smiled.

"What about Avery and Tennyson?" Abby finally dared to ask cautiously.

His smile fell. "They're alive if that's what you wanted to know."

"No, I didn't…I trust you. I didn't think you'd…I'm sorry if that came out wrong."

He hushed her with a wave of his hand. "No, need to be sorry. I'd lie if I said I wasn't momentarily…tempted." The memory of those two goons standing over her convulsing body with their back turned to him, laughing like hyenas, flashed before his mind's eye. He had roared an angry "Stupefy". It had hit them by surprise. They had fallen to the ground, their faces expressionless as he peered down at them with a murderous glance. He remembered the helpless panic in their eyes and how he had enjoyed seeing it.

"What did you do to them?" Her question startled him out of his reverie.

"Memory spell," he said matter-of-factly. "They're lucky if they ever regain their memory." They both knew that what she had done, even though Avery and Tennyson were criminals, was illegal. The Ministry didn't condone personal vendettas. Traces had to be blurred, memories erased.

She nodded silently. "I'm sorry to have brought you into this situation," she added after a long pause.

"Don't be. You're still alive. That's all that counts," Severus said determinedly, willing her to drop the subject.

He rose from the edge of her bed with a sigh. "I'm going to give you something to lower the fever and then you should rest for a while."

"But…"

He just threw her a stern look from over his shoulder in reply.

"Alright." She threw him a wry little smile.


	9. Dear, I Shall Never Have The All

**Disclaimer**: This story has been written out of fan-appreciation. I own nothing but the characters I invented (clearly not Snape, Harry Potter, Dumbledore ecc.) and the poor excuse for a plot I patched together.

**UN-BETAED**

_I have a smile  
Stretched from ear to ear  
To see you walking down the road_  
**Sarah McLachlan - I love you**

We meet at the lights  
I stare for a while  
The world around disappears

Just you and me  
On this island of hope  
A breath between us could be miles

Let me surround you  
My sea to your shore  
Let me be the calm you seek

Oh and every time I'm close to you  
There's too much I can't say  
And you just walk away

And I forgot  
To tell you  
I love you  
And the night's  
Too long  
And cold here  
Without you  
I grieve in my condition  
For I cannot find the strength to say I need you so

With every day that passed she grew a little stronger. The colour returned to her cheeks and with the pain gone, she was just as chatty as ever. She could even walk around now without being dependent on his support. A fact which he almost regretted, because that had been the only time they had been physically close. They were treading very careful around each other these days, almost as if they were afraid that one wrong word could destroy whatever they had. Fleeting touches were exchanged that caused blushes and embarrassed silence. Kissing seemed too bold a move, as well as talking about one's feelings.

They both knew it was time for her to leave, return to their lives as they had been before the incident, but neither of them seemed to have the heart to. They spent a lot of time together, but that didn't mean they actually got around to sorting through the things that mattered. The most important ingredient to their painstakingly established status-quo was pretence. They were acting out parts. Harsh comments were edited out, double-meanings were avoided like the plague, because they could go both ways.

She didn't ask how he had managed to keep her presence here at Hogwarts a secret, but she imagined he had his ways. Being a former Death Eater and on top of that a spy surely didn't mean he was all about hugs and puppies, so she refrained from asking and he, quite unsurprisingly, refrained from telling.

When he walked through the door straight after class one afternoon, she was sitting at the edge of her bed. It was made; the nightgown she had worn was lying neatly folded on her pillow. She was also fully dressed.

"You're leaving," he observed coolly.

"Yes," she sighed.

He sat down next to her. Today's classes had left him feeling rather exhausted. "Am I going to see you again?" he asked after a while, almost timidly.

She looked at him in surprise. His face was serious. He didn't mean that as a joke. Then again he rarely was in the mood for jokes. She threw him an encouraging smile. "Of course you are. Why shouldn't you?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Things are different now."

"Yes, unfortunately," they were both looking ahead, their gazes fixed on different points of the bare grey stone wall opposite of them. Any outward observer would have said they did it, because they didn't want to look at each other.

After a while she got up with a sigh. He held out his hand to her, still sitting. "Goodbye," he said his voice carefully neutral.

She looked at his hand then shook her head. "This is bloody ridiculous," she said contemptuously.

"Beg you pardon," he looked at her in astonishment.

"You've heard me right. This is ridiculous," she repeated again, meeting his eyes. To her they still held that inexplicable fascination. Dark irises that faded into dark pupils. Sometimes it was hard to read them. Other times, however, they held an intensity that made it almost impossible to hold his gaze.

"Pray tell, what is ridiculous?" Now, for example, was one of those moments she had trouble interpreting the looks he was giving her.

"I'm not made out of glass you know. If you have anything to say to me just say it. Damn it!"

Acknowledging his feelings was something he had trouble with, voicing them seemed impossible. He shook his head. "I can't seem to think of anything to say."

"Alright," she answered sadly. "This is goodbye then." After a moment of hesitance she turned towards the door. Her steps were slow and cautious.

"Wait," he said simply and she stopped. She could hear him get up from bed and walk towards her. He stopped mere inches from her. Without looking she could sense him standing behind her very closely. After days of timidly putting some emotional as well as physical distance between them, his sudden proximity was enough to speed up her pulse. She slowly turned around, coming face to face with him.

Without a warning he leaned down and kissed her. She let out a surprised little squeal, taking a few steps back until she pumped into the door. When he finally drew back, her knees felt shaky and her breathing was ragged. "Alright," she finally managed to get out, a dorky smile on her face. "Message received. You don't want me to go like this."

"You're quick on the uptake. Impressive," he was actually smirking a little at her. She hadn't seen that expression on his face for quite some time, consequently it didn't fail to do its desired effect. A pleasant shiver ran down her spine. Then again maybe "desired effect" was the wrong wording. He seemed to be completely oblivious to what it did to her. Knowing him he was completely unaware of the fact that he could be quite attractive once he stopped scowling.

Why not tell him? She did and that comment completely sent him off balance. If she didn't know better, she'd actually think he was blushing.

"Could it be that you have some slight trouble accepting compliments?" she smiled softly.

"Maybe it's because I'm just not used to them," he said truthfully, finally able to overcome his embarrassment and meet her eyes again.

She reached out her hand to let her fingers run over his cheek. Just minutes ago it would have impossible, but his kiss had changed everything. She was glad it had. She had missed touching him like that.

He closed his eyes. His face relaxed, the lines around his mouth softened, the crease between his eyes barely noticeable now. He looked much younger, much more carefree.

"Maybe it's time you got used to it. There are a lot of things about you I love. I've just never found the heart to tell you. I was afraid you'd find it awfully trite," she said softly.

"You should know that male egos are always receptive to praise."

He would have expected any response from her, just not this one. First soft laughter, then a sincere and softly spoken "I love you".

He could only stare at her in surprise. Her eyes widened comically, she blanched and clamped her hands over her mouth, when she realized what had just happened. Apparently it had been an unintentional slip.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to blurt it out like this."

"Is it true?" he enquired, sternly fixing her with his eyes. She seemed to shrink under his gaze. Doubtlessly she would have fled the room if she wasn't conveniently pinned between him and the door.

She decided to ignore his question and brattle on like a headless chicken, rushing through all kinds of different excuses, using a lot of redundant and rather complicated words.

"Is it true?" asked again, this time a little more vehemently.

She looked at him, slowly blinking twice as if awaking from a daze. "Of course, it is."

There was a hint of desperation to the way his eyes searchingly clung to her face. He tried to catalogue every expression on it: the curve of her lips, the soft blush to her cheek, the way she looked at him.

"No, you're lying," he finally said, shaking his head sadly.

"Why should I do that?" she looked at him in shock. Was it really so hard for him to believe that somebody loved him? She had blurted it out in the heat of the moment that didn't make it any less true. If anything it only made it truer. It was how she felt. For once she hadn't run her thoughts through a filter, endlessly obsessing over when and how to say things. It had just come out naturally. Yes, she meant it. But how was she supposed to make him see that?

"What do I have to do to make you believe me? Because I'd do about anything," Abby finally said.

"I don't think there's anything you can do."

"Don't you trust me?"

"I don't trust anybody," he stated matter-of-factly. It sounded like a mantra. Like he had repeated those words many times.

It broke her heart, but after what had happened last week she was in no position to hold it against him. She had promised to tell him when she would leave to confront Avery and Tennyson. She had been thoughtless. With adrenaline pumping through her veins the only thing that had mattered had been revenge. Yes, she had let him know what she was doing, but without taking into consideration that it would take him more than a couple of seconds to get to her. Her impulsiveness and her thoughtlessness had almost killed her. In short her deeds hadn't been particularly trust inspiring, but in order for this to work, in order for them to have a shot at a decent relationship that would stretch beyond a short lived affair, she would have to do something to regain his trust. Desperate times called for even more desperate measures.

"Legilimens," she said finally. "You can do that, right?"

"Yes, but that's not an option," he threw her a dark glance that was obviously supposed to end the argument, but it didn't. Arguments with her usually didn't end just because he looked at her sharply.

"Why not?"

"Because I'd be violating your mind."

"Not if I ask you to read my thoughts. That's not violation. It's actually an open invitation to come and have a peek."

"You make it sound so trivial…"

"And you have to continuously complicate things…" Her exasperated tone matched his.

"I do not complicate things."

"Yes, you do. I ask you to one little spell on me and then you suddenly get all moral high ground and start talking about how you would be violating my mind with it. If that's not acting like a drama queen, what is?"

"Legilimens isn't something to use at leisure," he informed her sternly. "In the War it was used as a weapon. As leverage even. Need I tell you that most of the people I used it one weren't exactly happy to have me plundering around in their minds?"

She took a brief moment to digest that particular information. When she spoke again her voice quivered ever so slightly. "I get what you're trying to tell me. Believe me I do. But what other way is there to get you to trust me again?"

He was just standing there, looking at her unblinkingly for while, as if he could read the answer to their dilemma in her face. Finally he came to some sort of decision.

"Time."

_Well, that had been rather anticlimactic._"Time?" she looked at him with a frown."That's it?"

"Yes."

She let out a long exasperate huff. "How much time?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"No really. Are we talking months? Years? Decades?"

Again he shrugged his shoulders.

"Seriously, has there ever been someone…anyone you came to trust completely?" she looked at him her eyes wide and expectant. "No, actually don't answer that…." She sat down on the edge of the bed again, her eyes staring vacantly into the empty space. Suddenly there was nothing but that feeling of hollowness and rejection, which maybe was well deserved after everything that had happened.

Finally she added more quietly: "Maybe that suits me right for being such a stupid b…"

She didn't get to finish the rest of the sentence. "No, it's my fault. I'm sorry," he interrupted her just in time.

"I really do love you, you know."

"No, I don't," the fact that he said those words with a little shy smile on his face, didn't make her feel any better, but at least it let her know that he wasn't hurting her intentionally. He had his limitations. His inability to trust was one of them. But how was she supposed to ever get through to him?

"It's not that I don't want to believe you," he tried to salvage the situation.

She sighed. "I know, Severus." She threw him a sad smile. "You just can't."

"Not yet anyway."

"Not yet," she repeated.

He nodded wordlessly. A rather long pause ensued.

"Well, that went rather well, didn't it?" she let out a raucous laugh.

"Yeah," he said gloomily and sat down on the bed beside her. She shot him a sideways glance regarding his profile. There was something haunted inside her eyes as if she was desperately looking for something but unable to find it.

"Time, eh?" she finally asked after a while. He turned his head to look at her. They just stared at each other wordlessly for awhile, before he finally answered. "Yes."

Her mouth unexpectedly curved into a teasing smile. Fortunately her thoughts seemed to have already taken a different direction. Unlike him she possessed the talent not to linger on depressing thoughts for too long. "Any other way I could convince you?"

He was surprised by her sudden change of mood. So surprised, as a matter of fact, he even sounded a bit flustered. "What do you mean?"

She smiled. She just loved to get under his skin. He wasn't used to flirting. It always managed to throw him off completely, which was rather funny in her book. Especially the way he got all huffy and didn't know what to say anymore. And he always wore that look of indignation as if flirting with him was completely inappropriate. When things got to that point she just couldn't help herself anymore. She just had to keep on teasing him.

Abigail threw him a nice little smile and scooted closer to him. "Oh, absolutely nothing," she said coquettishly looking at him from under her lashes. To give her words more credulity and also to make him more flustered she laid her hand on his chest. It rested there a little bit longer than necessary. She circled one of the buttons on the front of his robes with her index fingers with an almost most reverent expression on her face, then let her hand fall on the mattress between them.

"Now what is so interesting about my robes all of a sudden?" he asked suspiciously, almost sounding a bit harsh. Obviously the teasing was having the desired effect.

She hesitated for a moment. The thought occurred that this little game of hers would cease to be a game once she uttered the next words. But that she was more than okay with her. She was fed up with games and carefully tip-toeing around him. She wanted to be close to him, but first she had to pull down all those barriers he had built up around him. What better way to do that than by teasing?

" If you absolutely must know, I was wondering how many buttons this thing has exactly."

"Any particular reason why you're interested in that detail?"

"Actually, yes," her voice was low and had a ring to it that had so far been foreign to him, "I keep wondering how they're undone and how much time it would take."

"Oh, don't be daft!" he told her, trying hard to sound stern. Instead his voice came out rather breathy. It was also getting increasingly difficult to ignore the sexual tension that was quickly building between them.

"So, I'm being daft then, huh? I'm not the one of us who's too dense to even notice when he's being flirted with." The way she looked at him, her voice… he could feel it starting to slow down his thoughts, encouraging his instincts to take over. His eyes fell on her lips they were slightly parted and ever so inviting. If he gave in now he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He gulped heavily.

"Do you know what you're getting yourself into? You're playing with the fire here."

"I do precisely know what I'm getting myself into. I've been having these thoughts for quite a while now."

"I must warn you if you keep teasing me…," he said, almost sounding a bit insecure.

"What will you do? Kiss me again?" She scooted closer, her arm brushed against his, the by now familiar sweet scent of her perfume invaded his nostrils and made his stomach tingle. "If you think the prospect of kissing you will repel me, you're completely wrong. If anything it's an encouragement to continue. So kissing and then?"

"Yes, first that, then…," his eyes travelled hungrily over her body, then settled on her face again. She was almost scared he would loose his nerve now.

"Then what?"

"You know bloody well," he growled. He was itching to touch her, pull her into his arms, but wouldn't allow himself to. Not yet at least. For the moment his fear of rejection and disappointment dominated his desire.

"Sex?" The way the word was rolling of her tongue was almost his undoing. "Are you afraid saying it?" She smiled at him teasingly.

"I'm not, but there's only so much I can take," his tone was dangerously low now. "I'm trying to be chivalrous. I'm trying very hard right now not to throw you on this bed and have my way with you. You're still convalescent if you do recall."

"I was convalescent a week ago," she remarked dryly. He couldn't argue with that. The only thing that had kept her here that long, was the fact that they both didn't want her to leave. "By the way, just in case you haven't notice, I'm trying very hard to get you to throw me on this bed and have your way with me," she smiled at him sweetly.

Something inside of his snapped at her comment. The next thing he consciously perceived was that they somehow had ended up tangled up on said bed, him pinning her to the mattress with his weight, his hands in her hair, hers deftly opening one button after the other, softly counting them under her breath. He kissed her again and she lost count completely.

"You're unfair…You…" He had just playfully bitten her neck, making her forget entirely what she had wanted to say before. Apparently he had just discovered another way to silence her. He mentally stored away that information for later use.

His smugness disappeared entirely, when she undid the top buttons of the shirt he wore underneath his robes and let her fingers trace over his naked skin. Her hand stilled when she felt his heart beating anxiously underneath her palm. She noticed he had frozen in shock and saw the questioning expression in his eyes. This was a crucial moment. Her fingers softly curled around his hand and brought it to her chest. He could feel the anxious drumming of her heart underneath his fingers and looked at her in astonishment.

"I'm just as nervous as you are," she answered the unspoken question in his eyes.

"We don't have to…"

"I know, but I very much want to."

A pause."Me too."

"Good" Abby smiled at him. "Because for a moment I thought I would have to talk you into having sex with me."

"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary. I'm already convinced that it's a brilliant idea." He mirrored her smile before he slowly leaned down to kiss her.


	10. Ice Cream Castles In The Air

The following lyrics are from a song I heard a lot writing this fic. Unfortunately it's in Italian, but I dug around the Internet and found an English translation (being to lazy to do one myself).

_Sei nell'anima  
E lì ti lascio per sempre  
Sospeso  
Immobile  
Fermo immagine  
Un segno che non passa mai_  
**Gianna Nannini-Sei nell anima**

You're in my heart  
And I'll leave you there for always  
Pending  
Motionless  
A still image  
A scar that never goes away

**Thank you, thank you, thank you to my brilliant and fantastic beta ****antisocialite****! I can't even begin to say how much I missed you!! huggles**

She was curled up at his side, her head resting on his shoulder, her arm sprawled over his chest. They hadn't spoken for awhile just revelled together in that content silence that was stretching out between them. There was no need for words, when everything could be communicated by touch.

He turned on his side so that they came face to face. She smiled at him. Little laughter lines formed around her eyes that were looking at him friendly. He reached out his hand to cup her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. The smile slowly faded from her face and though it was now gone he could still remember every little detail about it.

"I want to stay like this forever." His statement was sentimental and childish, but for once he didn't care. It was how he felt.

Her face lit up again. She knew him, knew how out of character it was for him to say something like that. He never talked about what he wanted, regarding it as a weakness instead. As a spy, he never could afford wanting something, it would have made him vulnerable. Sentimentality would have had an even more devastating effect: it would have cost him his life. So of course, the implications of his words didn't pass her by.

"I love you too," she said softly, before she closed the distance between them with a kiss. Her words all of a sudden, seemed strangely inadequate for expressing her feelings, so she tried to pour them into the kiss, into the way her fingers tenderly stroke his hair. Her fingers didn't stop their caress even after she had pulled back.

She was still smiling. Somehow it now refused to fade. He was almost afraid her face would break in two if she kept on doing that.

"Oh, don't look at me like that!" she gave his shoulder a playful shove.

"Like what?"

"Like you're asking yourself whether I've finally gone completely bonkers. I'm just happy, you know."

"Really?"

"Yes, I'm quite positive. What about you?"

"I suppose so," he said cautiously. The corners of his mouth were twitching suspiciously as if he was trying hard to suppress a smile.

"You could be a little more enthusiastic about it," she propped up her head on her hand, looking at him with a mirthful twinkle in her eyes.

"I was being enthusiastic."

She grinned. "I know."

"You little minx," he growled playfully. She let out a surprised little shriek that mixed with happy giggles as he flipped her over and pinned her to the mattress with his weight.

"Again?" Abigail asked with a grin on her face. Her eyes travelling southward while her left eyebrow quirked up ironically.

"Any objections?" His pale face was framed by a dark curtain of black hair as he looked down at her.

"Is that how you woo a girl?"

"It's how I woo you. Why? Didn't I strike the right tone?" he whispered into her ear. The timbre of his voice made her body tingle and sent a pleasant shiver up her spine.

She was slightly breathless when she answered. "Oh, believe me the right tone isn't the problem." He looked rather smug upon hearing that. "But there are ways we could make this even more pleasurable." Now the smugness was gone.

"Is that some sort of hidden criticism?" he was frowning.

"No, merely a suggestion."

"Continue…" He let go of her wrists. The frown was still firmly in place. The situation had reached a critical level, but it would soon enough divert into disastrous if she didn't do anything about it.

Their first love making had been a little bit like their first kiss: a beautiful disaster – a beautiful disaster that had left both of them breathless and with a telltale boneless contentment. Oh yes, she had definitely enjoyed every minute of it. It was aspiring to very good, but why not exploit its potential for mind blowing if it was there? All it needed was just a little nudge in the right direction.

"Don't pout," she said softly, giving him a pleading look.

"I don't pout," he informed her coolly.

"Yes, you do. In fact you're doing it right now," she sat up, the blanket slipping down her naked upper body.

"It's hard to argue with you, when you're half-naked," he said, his eyes momentarily lingering on her breast, before they finally settled on her face.

"I didn't want to argue at all," she said softly.

"What did you have in mind then?"

"Will you let me show you?"

"Depends. Will I like it?" his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

She smirked. "Definitely."

"Alright," he said after a moment of hesitation.

With a nudge of her head she motioned him to lie down. He complied begrudgingly.

"Do you trust me enough to let yourself go?" she was leaning over him, her hand on his chest. "Because that's what you'll need to do."

"I don't know if I can." She could tell he was uncomfortable, because once again he was avoiding eye contact.

"I don't know if I should," he added more softly after a moment.

"I want you to. I want everything of you."

He looked up at her, taking in her pale skin, her slender body, the bed sheet slung around her hips like a sari. Her brown hair was mussed and hung around her head in wild tangles. Her lips, red from kissing, revealed a set of white teeth when she spoke. He had always thought of her as beautiful, not your ordinary kind of beautiful that immediately revealed itself to the observer, no, it was more subtle and gradually unravelling the longer you looked. She was unashamed of her nakedness, radiating a glow of happiness and she was his. She had never been more beautiful to him than now.

She said she wanted everything of him, but did she know what she was getting herself into?

"I'm not sure you know what that means."

"What does it mean?" Abby asked patiently.

"I'm not always gentle," he admitted finally.

"You don't always have to be gentle," her smile was positively devious now. Maybe he didn't know what he was getting himself into either.

"But…" he started.

"No buts, this time," she shook her head.

"You don't…."

"Shush!" She laid her index fingers on his lips. He glared at her.

"You think too much," Abby said simply, as if that was enough to explain everything. "Give me five minutes. If you still want to talk then, we'll talk. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed finally.

He was anxious to find out what she was up to, because even though he did trust her there was still this vestige of scepticism he had trouble getting rid off. Her hands were warm against his skin. A shudder went through his body when she slowly let them glide down his arms. She noticed his strong reaction when her fingers brushed over the crooks of his arm, so she leaned down to kiss them. First her lips on his skin, butterfly touches, then her tongue. From there she slowly worked her way upwards to his neck.

Nagini's bite had left scars there and for a second he was worried she would be repulsed. Her hot breath fanned against his skin - a moment of hesitance. Maybe he had been right. "I don't want to hurt you. Tell me if I'm doing something you don't like," she whispered in his ear. He only managed to weakly nod in response.

She felt the faint beginnings of stubble underneath her lips when she kissed his neck. With her nose so close to his skin, she could smell his scent, that odd mixture of potions and soap she had always found so pleasant and was now intoxicating to her. She stopped her ministration of his neck for a moment to kiss him on the lips, but before he could deepen the kiss she pulled away.

"You're playing with the fire," he breathed. His eyes sparkled at her dangerously

"That was the idea of it," she said breathily. It had cost her a lot of strength to not give into him right away.

She moved on to the other side of his neck. A playful bite to his shoulder elicited a soft moan. The sound alone almost made her loose her mind. She wanted to seduce him, but that was a rather hard thing to do. She was barely able to resist him as things were, but if he started to make sounds like that...

Their second kiss was even better than the first. In fact it almost made her forget she wanted to stop just before things got out of hand, but this time he wouldn't allow her to toy with him. He slung his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. Her heart sped up when she felt his body flush against hers, felt how much he wanted her.

"I now what you're trying to do," he whispered in between kisses. His voice was low and velvety. He knew all too well which effect it had on her, because she had already told him so repeatedly. _The bastard!_

"Is it working?" she whispered back, barely able to form a coherent thought.

"I think given your position you should be able to tell. So?"

"Yes," a shudder of pleasure went through her body.

"Good, I think it's my turn now," he growled. "And I don't intend to have any mercy on you, at least not any time soon."

tbc


	11. Where night's black bird her sad infamy

Flow, my tears, fall from your springs!  
Exiled for ever, let me mourn;  
Where night's black bird her sad infamy sings,  
There let me live forlorn.

Down vain lights, shine you no more!  
No nights are dark enough for those  
That in despair their lost fortunes deplore.  
Light doth but shame disclose.

Never may my woes be relieved,  
Since pity is fled;  
And tears and sighs and groans my weary days  
Of all joys have deprived.

From the highest spire of contentment  
My fortune is thrown;  
And fear and grief and pain for my deserts  
Are my hopes, since hope is gone.

Hark! you shadows that in darkness dwell,  
Learn to contemn light  
Happy, happy they that in hell  
Feel not the world's despite.  
**Flow my tears by John Dowland**

**AN: Many thanks to my dear beta ****antisocialite****! **

It was late in the evening when two figures quietly snuck of the Hogwarts bounds and passed a rather placate Whomping Willow that was softly swaying in the breeze. One of them was tall and slender dressed in black, the other one smaller, dressed in Muggle clothes, her small frame shacking with muffled laughter.

He rolled her eyes at her antics in mock annoyance.

"Oh, don't give me that look! This is funny. We're sneaking around like teenagers. Why are we doing that anyways? Is it passed your curfew, Severus?" Abby had to make a considerable effort to scrape together all her willpower in order to keep a straight face as she posed that question.

"This is a respectable school," he informed her sternly. "It would be surely frowned upon if the Head of the Slytherin House publicly paraded around with his…," he struggled to find the right word. She wasn't making it any easier for him, as she watched him her arms crossed over her chest and one eyebrow arched ironically.

"His what?" she volunteered.

"His lover," he suggested, his expression somewhat sour.

"Ah, alright," her eyes twinkled at him in the dark, "I think I can live with that, though I would have doubtlessly dropped dead if you had referred to me as your girlfriend."

"Please, do give me some credit. My vocabulary isn't that puerile, though I do live at a boarding school," he drawled.

"But rather stilted," she grinned cheekily, probably in part because she was aware of being the one person to make such a joke at his cost and live. She was also the only person to kiss him afterwards to appease his flaring temper.

"Do you never tire of teasing me?" he asked in mock exasperation. It was hard to actually manage real exasperation in a moment he felt so very nearly happy. "Anyone who knows me will think I've suddenly developed a taste for self-flagellation or worse."

"What could be worse than that?"

"They could think I've gone soft," he said in a grave tone of voice.

"Have you?" Her expression was now pure mischief.

He pretended to contemplate his answer for a second. "Why don't you ask the first years who are going to make my acquaintance tomorrow morning and see what they are going to tell you right after class?" The devious grin on his face promised that the future would hold nothing good in store for those poor little brats. Abby almost felt something akin to compassion for them. Well, almost.

"Whatever did those poor souls do to incur your wrath?"

"They are going to make me rise at six in the morning, therefore it's their fault I have to sneak around like a thief with my girlfriend at this nightly hour." His deliberate use of that endearment didn't escape her. She hit him lightly on the arm. He continued unflinchingly, "…and if that alone weren't enough, I have to accompany her home, though I want nothing else than to wake up in bed next to her in the morning."

The end of the sentence brought a smile to her face, but she was too giddy to refrain from making a joke. "There you have it," Abby said.

"What?" he frowned.

"You've gone soft."

"You think so?"

"Before you would have only scowled and complained about your horrid students, then nodded at me one last time and disappeared. Now I even get a compliment and not just any run-of-the-mill compliments. No, one of the nicest compliments I've ever gotten actually."

"So you'd rather have me revert to my old ways then?" His left eyebrow quirked ironically. "Because that could be arranged - all you have to do is ask."

"That won't be necessary," she said quickly, very quickly. "Is there any way I could convince you to forget I ever mentioned it?"

He nodded and pulled her closer to whisper something in her ear. Upon hearing his suggestion her eyes widened comically and she blushed crimson red. "Really, Severus!" Abby called out, but the delighted gleam in her eyes betrayed her. He found it to be a particularly lovely addition to her flush.

In fact she was still blushing after they had kissed goodbye and she Disapparated. He strolled back to the castle with a satisfied grin on his face.

It was the first time he entered her apartment. His surprise outweighed the very subtle feeling of betrayal that was gnawing at him. After all he had allowed her in his chambers long before she had finally decided to grant him the honour of visiting her humble abode. Somehow she had managed to convince him that her whole life evolved around her bookshop in Diagon Alley, waving off his questions about her apartment with the explanation that she was practically living at "Colliding Worlds" anyway and that there was very little to be seen.

But this was neither unimportant nor miniscule. The apartment seemed to him like a natural extension of her personality. Everything he saw there made sense to him starting with the huge windows that would turn the flat into a light-flooded, friendly place during the day, down to the blinds that could be drawn at night, if she had enough of serving her private life on a platter to her neighbours.

The flat was filled with contradictions. While on the one hand there was this old-fashioned red velvet couch that was dominating her living room, probably her sanctuary where she retreated to read or have her cup of morning tea, her kitchen was all polished metallic surfaces, oddly reminiscent of a factory. In between heaps and heaps of books a television set was peaking out almost timidly. The pictures on the wall were all ever so slightly leaning towards the surreal, but always had an ironic note to them.

Her apartment was cluttered, smelling of incense and ever so slightly untidy. It was very close to being comfortable, had there not been for the dishes in the sink and the old papers next to the door that were looking at him somewhat reproachfully as if they were saying _Yes, we should have been thrown out weeks ago, but she forgot all about us. Anything wrong with that?_ Something would have to be done about that.

"Come in!" she said with a cheery smile, which was just a hint too bright, because she was trying hard to hide her nervousness behind it.

"Thank you," he said taking of his coat, casually laying it over the side of her couch. She was hovering somewhere behind him, anxiously awaiting his verdict. Her nervousness somewhat reconciled him with the fact that she had kept something as substantial as her apartment from him for this long, so he suppressed his biting sarcasm for the time being. Maybe there would be time to address the issue later on.

"So? How do you like it?"

"The truth?"

"Of course," she answered as always. However unpleasant the truth might be, she never shrank away from it. It was one of her qualities he admired most.

"Well, it wouldn't be half as bad if someone finally took mercy upon your flat and cleaned it."

"Are you offering?" Abigail teased.

"Certainly not," he snorted. "Or do I look like a maid?"

"Of course not. I'd never even dare suggest anything like that," Then she added in a more thoughtful tone, "But you know there are actually people who offer to clean your flat in the nude. Maybe I should get one of those blokes…"

"Only if you want me to hex you," he growled.

"Is it just my imagination or are you actually jealous?" she asked with a triumphant grin, marching off towards the kitchen. She could feel his eyes on her the entire time. The whole flat was one huge room, except for the bathroom of course, so he had ample opportunity to glare at her as long as he wished, because she would never be out of eyesight.

"If I wasn't, it would mean I'm indifferent to you," he remarked, casually taking a seat on the simple wooden stool standing somewhat forlorn next to the metallic counter of the kitchen.

"I'm very glad you're jealous then." Their eyes met for the briefest of moments. It provided them with the reassurance that there was more to their constant bickering than just the fact that they loved trading verbal barbs. They also loved each other.

"So, food," she turned to the refrigerator with a sigh, producing two onions, which she regarded thoughtfully for a second, before she turned around to look at him. "Who's going to do the dirty work? You or me? I always cry like a baby when I'm cutting onions. What about you?"

He shot her a pointed look. "I'm surprised you should have to ask. You remember what I do for a living, don't you? I handle far more acidy substances than onions on a daily basis. Without breaking into tears, I might add."

After having gotten that out of the way, they started cooking in companionable silence. She was shooting him amused looks. He was completely engrossed in his task, fixing the onion with a stern gaze as he methodically chopped it into tiny slices that would have made any chef proud.

He had spent a lot of time imagining how he would die. More than a normal person should. So when it had happened he should have been prepared, but he wasn't. He had been lying there on the cold floor slowly bleeding to death, while Nagini's poison was spreading in his system. Even then he had not stopped fighting. He refused to die like this, refused to give into that all consuming feeling of hopelessness. His lungs had been greedily sucking in air as if they could prevent the inevitable by providing enough oxygen, while he had desperately pressed his fingers to his neck wound that had been constantly oozing blood.

Suddenly he was back there again. Everything was real starting with the copper taste in his mouth, right down to the desperation that was clawing at his heart. He felt himself becoming weaker and weaker and wouldn't have any of it. For one last time he chose to rebel fiercely against his faith, even though he knew in his heart of hearts that all his struggling was for naught. The end result would always be the same: death. Cold and lonely, without a hand to hold, without solace or forgiveness.

Forgiveness…His eyes were searching the room desperately. Potter. They briefly settled on the boy, but soon started wandering again, looking for another face. She wasn't there. How could she? Maybe she had been a figment of his imagination all along. In this reality, in this reality where he was dying, there was only Potter and his little friends who were just standing there gaping wordlessly at him. No, forgiveness was too much to ask for from them. Solace couldn't be provided. Even though of age, they were no more than terrified kids, seeing another one of the adults fall.

Deep down he had always hoped for a future, a second chance, but maybe that wish had been in vain. Maybe he didn't deserve happiness. Maybe he didn't deserve a reward. This was not one of that Muggle children stories. Albus, bless his heart, though always mischievously smiling, had never been the Happy Prince and he was nowhere as innocent and good-hearted as the little swallow. A happy future, love, someone to trust, that was nothing but a fantasy - a fool's hope. He was so tired of hoping in vain, so tired of that eternal struggle. So why not give in. Why not surrender for once? It would all become easier once he stopped fighting.

A single tear trailed down his cheek. It was silver. Silver and filled with memories of times long passed. The roles in this play had been long cast and the next scene was well-rehearsed. He drew in one shuddering breath. Next he would tell Potter to come closer. Just a few more seconds of this pain and then it would all be over. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he froze. Soft fingers wrapped around his hand. His fingers that had long gone numb and cold were suddenly tinkling as the warmth was spreading inside of them once again. His senses unmistakably told him there was someone, holding his hand, but when he looked, there was nobody. It was just a figment of his imagination, he tried to tell himself. But just when he had almost managed to convince himself of that, someone squeezed his hand and called his name. That voice - it was a familiar. It struck a chord inside of him: a wonderful ache - soft, tender and languid that tore at his heart and coaxed him into hoping again.

Potter looked at him confusedly, insecure whether he should come closer or stay where he was. He hadn't told him to, he realized. This wasn't going the way it was predestined, the way it always happened.

His musings were interrupted when he heard that voice again. It was calling his name. No one had ever said his name like that. The voice sounded slightly begrudging, but yet affectionate. There was a hint of worry, too, if he wasn't mistaken.

Was that just a comforting illusion before he died? Was it his brain, desperately releasing all sorts of hormones to flood his system before it ultimately closed down? He found that he didn't care. That he'd rather hang on to this illusion than giving himself over to the fact that death was inevitable.

The scene dissolved, the grey of the Shrieking Shack was washed away by a warm orange glow. Soft light was shining on his face as his eyelids fluttered open. He was gradually coming to, becoming aware of his surroundings and the fact that he was lying on a soft bed and someone lying beside him. Not just someone, the woman who was holding his hand – Abigail. He blinked a couple of times, while his disorientation gradually made room to clarity.

"It was just a dream," she said softly. Her fingers were stroking him, tenderly grazing the inside of his arm, completely disregarding faded tattoo that was still visible there. "Just a stupid dream," she repeated again, as if to reassure both herself and him.

Now he was expected to say something, reassure her that he had found his way back into this reality again. But what was he to say? He could downplay this horrible vision to "just a nightmare" and simply pretend like nothing ever happened. He could tell her everything. He could tell her some white-lies. He could do a lot of things. While he was still contemplating his answer, he already heard himself say, "I dreamed I was dying." So it was the truth then.

She gulped, visibly shaken by his blunt admission. Her fingers briefly hovered over motionlessly over his skin, before they lowered themselves again to take a firm hold of his hand. "Was it…" she nervously licked her lips, "was it what happened to you before…"

"Yes," he cut in, finding it somewhat painful to witness her struggle with words, when she was usually so good at finding just the right thing to say.

"Oh," she said, shifting her position so that she was now leaning against the headboard of the bed. Her eyes never left his face. He noticed her lack of clothing: she was only wearing a white tank top and some black shorts. The puzzle pieces started falling into place and he remembered what had happened before and why he was only in his underwear as well.

A slight amused twitch of her mouth was the only indication she had noticed his confusion. But she wouldn't allow herself to smile. The situation was far too serious for that. After a while she decided to speak again. "Sometimes dreams seem all too real."

"I hope I didn't wake you." He hid his evasiveness behind politeness.

"You didn't wake me. I've been a light sleeper ever since," she paused briefly, "…ever since the war."

Now it was his turn to feel slightly disconcerted. "I didn't know."

"How should you? It's not your fault." she said softly.

A long pause followed. She rolled on her side so they lay facing each other. Her gentle eyes traced his features for a while, before she reached out tentatively to softly trace his still wet cheek. Realization hit him like a bucket of ice cold water. He hadn't only been crying in his sleep. He had been crying in front of her. Though she hadn't addressed the issue so far, her gesture made him all too well of the fact that it hadn't escaped her notice. He felt mortified.

"You don't have to be ashamed. It's just me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, while her thumb still caressed his cheek. "Nobody can be strong all the time."

He knew that she would never hold it against him that he had cried, that she would never mock him for showing his emotions, but nevertheless he didn't feel comfortable with it. Maybe he never would.

"I know that," he answered and it sounded gruffer than he had intended to.

"Good," she smiled. Luckily she wasn't one to hold grudges.

The cynic inside of him couldn't help but ask the next question. It lay in his nature to always expect the worst and experience had taught him that it was the wisest course of action. Disappointment was easily avoided this way. "What if it wasn't a dream?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What if I'm dreaming now?" he asked with a hollow voice, his gaze still fixed on the white ceiling above them.

"Why should this be a dream?"

"Because it feels too good."

"And you don't deserve to feel good? Is that it?"

"Maybe."

She sighed. Sometimes it was hard doing the positive thinking for both of them, when he was being so pessimistic. "Are you sure you want engage in a full-on philosophic debate with me at three in the morning?"

"I think going back to sleep is completely out of question at this point."

"Alright," Abby blew out her breath, running a hand through her messy hair. "So you think good things can't happen in real life. Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Good things don't last in real life."

"Do you think we're not going to last?" She tried hard to keep her voice neutral, but fear crept into it nevertheless. "I hope you haven't grown tired of me already."

"I haven't." A pause. "I doubt I ever will." He looked at her, his black eyes shining in the twilight. She pressed a quick peck to his lips, feeling incredibly relieved.

"Maybe you've already used up all your bad karma. After all that terrible things that happened, after all you've been through, don't you think you deserve a silver lining?"

He hesitated. "No."

His answer chilled her two the bone. She set up abruptly in bed. "Why?"

He said nothing, his eyes still clued to the ceiling.

"Do you hate yourself that much? How can you…" She stopped, trying to bring the disarray of thoughts inside her head under her control again. "I don't understand. I…Severus, I don't see you that way. You might not be perfect. Neither am I. Nobody is. Our mistakes and failures add up to what we are. What matters is how we deal with them, whether we simply ignore them and just keep on going or whether we try to learn anything from them, that's what makes all the difference in the world."

"Maybe I've could have done more…"

"No," she said. There was no doubt in her voice. It was firm and unyielding. "You couldn't have."

"Deep down, I was egoistic all along. I was always so afraid of dying. I can't help thinking my fear slowed me down, stopped me from doing the things I should have done."

"I can't see how the wish to survive should be egoistic."

"If I hadn't clung to life so desperately, if I hadn't been so afraid of death, maybe I could have done more. I could have made the right choices, if my fear hadn't always won out in the end," he thought out aloud.

"But if you had sacrificed yourself, you wouldn't have been able to help anymore."

"There would have been somebody else."

"You're not replaceable. Not to me," she shook her head vehemently. "I wouldn't be here anymore, if it wasn't for you. Avery and Tennyson would have killed me."

"There would have been somebody else to save you," he repeated.

"No, there wouldn't have. There's no one I trust like I trust you."

"Why me? What is so special about me?"

"To me? Everything," she answered in all sincerity.

"I'm lucky your optimism is so imperturbable." He granted her a weak smile.

"This has nothing to do with optimism. I just believe in you, that's it."

"Why?"

"Because you don't and you need someone who does."

He was deeply touched by her words and because he knew he could never find the right words to tell her what he felt, he tried to convey it with a gesture. He extended his arm, motioning her to come closer. She readily complied, her warm body moulding against his. Her head was now resting on his right shoulder, her back pressed against his chest, so she could feel the warmth of his body and his ribcage rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. His left arm hesitantly encircled her midriff. As usual his movements were cautious, as if he was still afraid he could scare her away or offend her in some way. Those fears proofed to be entirely ungrounded, because she soon snuggled even closer to him.

"I don't want this to be a dream…" Her voice was different now, low and content, barely above a whisper. "If it is, I never want to wake up."

"Me neither," he admitted softly, revelling in the feeling of holding her in his arms, that was as always close to overwhelming to him.

tbc


	12. The End Is Where We Start From

It was chilly. The wind whisked over her, sending shivers down her spine. There was a strange copper taste in her mouth. She slowly opened her eyes and found herself staring up into the black night sky. This didn't feel right. She was supposed to be anywhere else, but not here again. When she tried to sit up, a sharp pain ripped through her body that let her eyes tear up. Her sides were aching when she inhaled and even more so when she moved. Where was she? What had happened? She touched her fingers to her lips and flinched when they made contact with her skin. When she held them in front of her face and looked at them in wonder, her fingertips were covered with a dark and sticky substance that was glistening in the twilight – blood.

One more look at her surroundings verified the fear that had been rising inside of her even before she had opened her eyes. She was back there again. Back in this place that was her worst nightmare. This was where they had captured her and beaten her up. Where they had mocked her and told her what they had done to her aunt. Disgustedly she spit out the blood that had been gathering in her mouth. She remembered. She had bitten her tongue earlier on, when she had tried to suppress her screams.

The feeling that she had to be somewhere else slowly dawned on her. She grew more agitated by the minute. There was something she was supposed to do. It was vital that she remembered what exactly it was in the next couple of minutes or it would be too late. There was one thing she knew for sure and that was that she had to leave now.

"Get to your feet. Find your wand. Leave," she ordered herself mentally. She looked around frantically trying to find it. There it was lying innocently next to the extinguished campfire. Fire. Crackling fire. Warmth. Realization washed over her and it almost choked her. Panicked, she crawled over to the place where her wand was lying in the dust. Her heart beat so fast it threatened to break her chest. Her fingers closed tightly around her wand, so tightly in fact, her knuckles turned white.

She would have to get to her feet. Every movement was torture to her. Some of her ribs where probably broken. Yes, she remembered they had been…they were. She was finally standing; sweat was trickling down her back. The pain was still searing through her body, but she ignored it. She had to find him. She was frantic.

If she remembered correctly this was the night Voldemort would die. This was the night the Death Eaters had found her and tortured her. This was the night she only survived because they were called to the Dark Lords side for the final battle. This was the night Severus Snape would face death.

She didn't take the time to wonder whether she was too weak to Apparate or not. She just bit her teeth and did it, finding herself somewhere near Hogsmeade seconds later. Mustering every once of willpower she had, she told her feet to start walking. For once she was thankful that her 'prying and inquisitive nature', as Severus had so neatly put it, had left her with enough information about the happenings of that fateful night to know where she was headed. Hopefully her memory could be trusted in this point, because now, who knew what she could believe or not? What was real and what wasn't?

Every step was agonizing, but she didn't care. The gravel was crunching underneath the soles of her shoes as she walked. The sound was a regular rhythm she clung to, hoping it would keep her sane and give her the strength to keep walking. "Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream," it echoed inside her head ironically every step she took.

The thought drove her incredibly angry, which luckily provided her with enough steam to keep going. What was this? Hell? A cruel joke of fate? She hated magic. She hated what it could do. What it was capable of. Was this some kind of foul spell designed to mock her and foolishly let her believe in happy endings? It had made her think there was someone for her, someone who loved her and then…then it turned out to be just a cruel joke. Just an illusion, some bloody mind game. She couldn't accept that. She didn't want to believe that.

The path was winding downhill in front of her. The landscape looked deceptively tranquil and innocent, but she wasn't to be fooled by appearances anymore. She knew better now. Somewhere below her she could make out the Shrieking Shack. There was a dark cloaked figure moving rapidly towards the decrepit building. She froze, briefly debating with herself whether it would be wise to make her presence known. Maybe it wasn't him or maybe it was someone else and she was about to get herself killed, because she foolishly believed in dreams and love and what not. To what conclusion she came, was ultimately inconsequential. The stranger had already spotted her and was moving towards her rapidly.

Frantically her eyes wandered here and there, looking for a place to hide. Maybe it was best if she got out of view. Until she realised whether this was friend or foe, it would probably be wise not to attract anymore attention. Her options were the brambles to her right or the huge rock to her left. She quickly decided for the latter, because that would maybe provide her with enough space to move around if it came to a fight.

Suddenly she felt a pair of eyes bore into her. She turned around. The figure was standing there motionlessly, watching her. Though he was only a few metres away she couldn't see his face. It was concealed by the hood of his cloak. Slender hands reached out to pull it back. Seeing his face and together with the realization that it had not all been a feverish dream, knocked all the air out of her lungs. She felt like she was choking, unable to get out a word.

He took a few hesitant steps closer, recognition clearly written on his face as well as worry. This was not how he remembered her. Her clothes were dirty, the sleeves of her shirt torn. It was dotted with dried blood. It had dribbled on the fabric. Her lip was split and she was holding her left side with her hand. The expression of her eyes could best be described as haunted. She was like a wild animal that had been cornered by a predator. So anxious, so fragile and yet ready to fight. Merlin, what had happened to her?

"Abby." Her name rolled of his tongue as if he had said it a thousand times, but now knew better. He knew it was the first time he ever said it.

She blinked at him as if ripped out of a trance. "Severus." She took in his dark clothes- the clothes of a Death Eater- that made her shrink back instinctively. Whoever wore them brought pain and death. He brought pain and death. No, no, that wasn't right. She knew him, what kind of man he was. This was what he was capable of at his worst, but she had also seen his best, the side of him he concealed from the rest of the world, because he thought it would make him vulnerable. She remembered the way his fingers would tenderly trace her features when they lay in bed together, the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't watching. Those memories were almost too much to bear at a moment like that, especially since they shouldn't have been there in the first place. It felt like it had all really happened, although she knew for a fact now that it had only happened in her imagination.

"How is this possible?"

"I don't know," he admitted. His words let her feel even more helpless.

Her mind desperately tried to come up with an explanation for all of this. "Okay, I know what is happening," she whispered to herself. "This isn't real. It isn't. We are not here. We are safe. At home. In my bed. This is not real. I need to wake up. I need to wake up now." She looked at him, tears shining in her eyes. She already knew the truth, but she wasn't ready to acknowledge it yet. "I know because you said it yourself. It's just a dream. I can wake up if I want to. It'll happen any minute now, you see."

"This is not a dream," he said slowly, taking another cautious step towards her.

"Oh, as if you'd know," she said vigorously shaking her head.

"Believe me. I do."

"Bollocks! Someone must be fucking with our heads. This isn't real!" Her fingers were racking her already messy hair.

"It is," he insisted, taking one more step towards her. If he reached out his hand now he could touch her, but he hesitated. He wasn't sure she would let him. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably. Her eyes were wide with fear, begging him to do something to make it right, to make it all go away. To him she had always been strong. Maybe even stronger than him. Seeing her like this hurt him. It hurt him more than any torture the Dark Lord could have designed for him. He couldn't take it much longer.

He took her trembling hands in his. They were covered in dirt. Her skin was feeling rough underneath his fingertips, not like he remembered it. He expected her to draw back her hands any second now, but she didn't. She just stood there, looking at him with wide, terrified eyes.

"It's really you." Her voice was barely above a whisper, fragile like a leaf floating on air.

"Yes," he said softly.

She took one unsteady step towards him, her eyes roaming over his face nervously, then without a warning she reached out her arms to embrace him. She was holding onto him for dear life, even though her broken rips were protesting violently.

His familiar scent was comforting her and letting her doubt her sanity at the same time. No, this wasn't familiar, she mentally berated herself. This was new. She was neither supposed to know how what he smelt like nor what it felt like to be kissed by him. She wasn't even supposed to know his name or face for crying out loud.

The thought alone was maddening and his physical proximity was threatening to send her over the edge and reduce her to mad giggles. She slowly let go of him, suddenly not able anymore to support standing this close this close to him.

"Is it true? Is it true we've never actually met? It all happened in our minds?" She looked at him timidly, secretly wishing that he would say no.

"I'm afraid so. But it still happened. The fact that only it did in our minds, doesn't make it any less real, though." His eyes were intently watching her face. There was a hint of timidity in them. Was he afraid she didn't want this to be real?

At least he was not trying to push her away this time, like he usually did. This realization came out as a surprise to her, but she could not dwell on it to long. Her thoughts were too disconnected, too frazzled to focus on anything for too long.

"Then what the hell is going on? Who did this?" Her eyes flashed at him in the twilight. He knew her anger wasn't directed at him in particular, because part of him felt angry as well. Nothing about this situation seemed to be fair.

"Believe me, I have no idea either."

"Is it really…" She hesitated, obviously having some trouble wrapping her mind around what was happening and he really couldn't blame her for that, because he had some trouble believing it himself, "Is it really that day?"

"I'm afraid so," he was sounding more detached than he actually felt. His thoughts were chaotic, constantly circling around one question. How will we both make it through this unscathed?

"How much do you remember?" Abby finally enquired hesitantly.

"Everything," he answered. "The hospital, your aunt…," for a moment he looked almost embarrassed, "last night."

"Yes…," Abby said slowly. "Yes, I remember too. It's still everything there," she briefly tapped her temple with a shy smile. "But it obviously wasn't real…I mean not in a bodily sense."

"Yes."

"But this…this here is?!"

"Yes."

"Fuck!"

"I heartily agree."

She tried a smile, but it quickly died on her face, when her hurt lip made itself noticed. The pain set her back on track, sharpened her senses. "It's going to happen then…It's going to happen today, you're going to…"

"Die. Yes," he finished the sentence for her.

"Yes." Her voice was quivering ever so slightly, when she spoke again. "But it we can still change things. You don't have to face him. We could go somewhere safe where he won't be able to hurt you. At least there's something about this situation that isn't completely screwed up…"

He looked at her in confusion.

She hurried to explain what she meant. "Don't you see? You don't have to go down there. We can leave now. Everything will be fine." Thanks to her agitation she was talking very fast. The fire in her eyes was back, she was hoping again. The more it hurt him to crush her hopes with his next sentence.

"No," he shook his head sadly, "it has to happen exactly the way it is supposed to."

"What do you mean? Why?!"

He stayed silent, leaving her to figure it out by herself. There was no way he would have been able to convincingly explain himself. Every fibre of his body screamed at him not to do this. When he looked at her face, let his eyes trace her features that were so familiar to him, temptation threatened to overwhelm him. His instinct told him to take her and run away with her. They would hide somewhere safe, where no one would be able to find them. Everything would be okay. They would have all the time in the world to get to know each other again, find out whether reality actually compared to the illusion.

His thoughts had already drifted of to make escape plans, dream up a future for the both of them, when her words brutally ripped him out of his reverie. "You want to sacrifice yourself, don't you? That's what you want, isn't it? You want to let him kill you, so that the Potter kid can go and save the day." Her words alone were agonizing to him, because deep down he knew them to be true, but the way she looked at him, her disappointment and anger, was even worse to take.

"No, that's not what I want. What I want is to stay here with you, but…but this has to be done. Don't you see?" He tried to reason with her, but also partly with himself. "This is what we talked about. I can't let my fear get in the way this time. If I don't go down there, the Dark Lord will win. I can't believe I'm saying that but if Potter will die and our only hope will die with him."

"Are you barking mad?! Didn't you hear me the first time around?! He's going to kill you!"

"Yes."

"But what about us? Doesn't this mean anything to you? How can you just walk away from us, from what we have?" She was too desperate to cry, too desperate to feel anything besides the sudden numbness in her chest. The place where her heart was once, was now a vacuum, a black hole, sucking her feelings in, leaving nothing but a empty shell.

For once in his life Severus Snape seemed to have run out of words to say. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no words came from it.

Tears started welling up in her eyes, her vision blurred. She angrily wiped at them with the back of her hand, smearing dirt all over her face in the process. Then, when she already had given up hope entirely, he finally said something.

"I love you."

His words were sincere and soft spoken. One look in his face sufficed to know that he was telling the truth, but right now those words were the last thing she wanted to hear. They were worth nothing if he turned around the next second to walk towards certain death. She hated him for saying it now that she was about to lose him.

"You don't. If you did, you wouldn't go."

"I do, but I have to do this," he insisted again, sounding almost desperate.

"No."

"Abby…"

"No, don't you dare say another word!"

"Abby, I probably have told countless lies in my life, but this isn't one. I really do love you."

She looked at him, her bottom lip trembling, her eyes swimming with tears. He had never told her he loved her, he probably only did now, because he was facing certain death. She knew that his love for her would not keep him from turning around and walking away from her to pull off his stupid self-sacrificing hero stunt. All she felt right now was red hot anger. It was clouding her mind, permeating every fibre of her body, even taking possession of her vocal chords.

"I hate you," she spat out contemptuously.

Her harsh words hit him like a whip lash. He always expected the worst of people and situation in general and even though part of him had been prepared for this reaction, experiencing it first hand was something entirely different. It had been rather selfish of him to tell her in the first place. But he needed her to know before he left. He didn't want to die without having told her. His life was a series of missed out opportunities anyways, it was not necessary to add one more right before the end.

He understood her, understood that his words were nothing but mockery to her, especially now. This was not her talking, but her anger. Put in her place, he probably wouldn't have reacted differently, so he didn't hold it against her. He couldn't afford to hold grudges anyway. Not now. He needed to hold onto something or else his resolution would waver.

"Abby, I have to go." She could hear the pain in his voice, his regret to leave her without being able to fix this situation.

He momentarily closed his eyes, trying to gather his strength. But how on earth was he ever to find enough strength to walk away from her, when he wanted to do nothing but stay? He looked at her one last time, trying to memorize every detail of her face. Then, though it broke him his heart, he turned and started walking.

She instantly regretted her reaction right the second he took his first step away from her. After a brief moment of hesitation, her feet set into motion as if by their own accord. Then she suddenly was there next to him, holding him back by the sleeve of his coat. He stared at her in wonder, not able to understand what was happening.

"Severus, wait! Please, forgive me…I didn't mean what I said. I just…This is so hard….." He took her in his arms and kissed her, before she could continue her stammered apologies.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," Abby whispered over and over again after he had pulled back. He smiled sadly, but stayed silent.

"I know why you're doing this. We talk about this before. I understand," she let out a raucous laugh. "No, who am I kidding? Actually I don't. I can't, I won't, I will never understand. But…I love you. And I can't let you go like this." She was agitated and slightly out of breath. Her nervous babbling stood in stark contrast to his quiet resolve. "There must be something I can do. Some way I could help you. After Nagini…after Nagini has bitten you, there must be something…a potion, a spell, something we can do to stop the poison from spreading…Buy us enough time before I can apparate us both to St. Mungo's…"

"There isn't," he said gently.

"I have to do this on my own." Severus looked down in her face, her hands in his. His eyes were gentle, but infinitely sad. "I need you to stay out of this."

He kissed her all too conscious that this was to be the last time, then stepped back. His fingers slowly slipping out of her grasp

Her face fell. With his last words he had scattered their only hope. Unshed tears were threatening to choke her but she bravely swallowed them down. She was not going to make this even harder for him. Though she did in no way approve of his decision, she could understand the reasons for his actions. He felt that if he didn't do everything in his power to right the wrongs he had done, he would never deserve forgiveness or love. In short he would never deserve her. So this was all in all a rather screwed up lose-lose situation. There was no way she could convince him not to do this, she knew as much. And though this was one of the reason she loved him, she would also always resent him for this decision.

tbc


	13. Never Anything Wrong About Hope

**AN**: _**anti_social_ite**__, you did an awesome job with beta-ing this one. __Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Reading your kind words the other day brought a smile to my face...So thank you for the much needed cheer-up as well. *huggles* Oh, right! And didn't you say something about Conditional Clauses? *grins manically while pointing at her icon* That's in your honour, babe ;-)_

She forced herself to do, like he had asked her. Without even noticing, she bit her fingers bloody, chewing at her nails as she always did when she was nervous. When she saw Potter and his friends approach the Shrieking Shack, there was no force on earth able to keep her from following them.

The old house smelled of decay and rotten wood, the blanks creaked underneath her feet every step she took. The sensory information registered but it didn't reach her conscious thoughts. All she could think about right now was that she had to find him. True, he had to face Voldemort on his own, but the rest…the dying…Her thoughts shied away from the word. She couldn't even think it. How was she to live through it without breaking?

Her heart almost stopped beating when she saw him lying there in a pool of his own blood. There was so much of it, she thought in horror. She froze momentarily, as did the three terror-stricken children to her left. But it only took a blink of an eye before she broke out of her daze and was at his side. His eyes focused on her, communicating, without a word, his surprise upon seeing her there.

She kneeled down besides him, dimly registering that his blood was soaking through her trousers. Ever the fighter, he was still not ready to give up, his fingers vainly trying to stop the bleeding. A spark of hope gleamed up inside of her, though her rational mind whispered to her that it was senseless. He had already lost too much blood.

As she pressed her own fingers to the wound, his hand slowly fell down. Her other hand began stroking his head soothingly. "You idiot, you just had to go off and play hero, didn't you?" she said softly, her voice fragile and small. Tears were running down her cheeks, but she didn't even notice, until they fell down on his robes.

"Abby." She was surprised to hear his voice, though it sounded very much unlike him, raspy and rather strangled. The hint of a smile briefly tugged at the corners of his mouth and she couldn't help but mirror his expression, even though she wanted to do nothing but scream at the world for the profound unfairness of it all. She had only just found him.

"Yes, I am, right where I'm supposed to be." It was hard getting out the words. The sight of him, so fragile, fading away so quickly, made her choke up.

Hushed pieces of conversation reached her ear. "Who is she?" she faintly heard the red haired boy behind her ask in wonder.

"I think I know her. I just can't place her face right now," Hermione said in a bemused tone of voice.

"What really bugs me is just when did the greasy git find time to get himself a girlfriend?"

"Shut up, Ron! Don't be a complete arse," the girl chastised him

Abigail was oblivious to their little exchange; she was too busy trying to tend to Severus's wounds. A part of her knew it was senseless, but if she gave up and let herself be overwhelmed by despair, she would fall apart. She couldn't allow this to happen. She had to be there for him now. She had to be strong. Just like she had said before, her place was at his side.

"Potter," Severus rasped out. His breathing had become more laboured now, but he was holding on. She nodded and turned around to call the boy closer.

A hint of hysteria made her voice sound oddly shrill when she did, but Harry surprisingly complied without hesitation. As he laid eyes on Severus, took in the extend of his injuries and realized that he was in the brink of death, she saw something akin to sympathy wash over his features.

"Closer, Potter," Severus commanded, using up the last remains of strength he had left.

Potter kneeled down next to him, staring down into the face he had despised so long and that was now ashen grey and mask like. A silvery tear slipped from the corner of Snape's eye and Harry knew immediately what it was – a Pensieve memory.

"Look at it. Promise me you will." Snape's hand closed around the front of Harry's sweater, a pair of demanding black eyes bore into the boy who couldn't help but nod. He seemed to be satisfied with his answer, because his fingers loosened their grip, his hand sank down slowly. The struggle was over. It was all done.

With great horror Abby realized what was about to happen. She was going to lose him, this time irrevocably. "Don't you dare die on me, Severus," she hissed, surprised to find herself angry rather than sad.

"I can't hold on much longer," he said regretfully, his voice barely above a whisper. "Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," she said quietly, but he never heard her answer. She looked down at his still form. His chest was no longer rising and falling, his eyes were still fixed on her, though now they were lifeless. Realization spread inside her, reaching out its ice cold tendrils into every corner of her mind. He's dead. He's dead. Merlin, he's dead!

She let out a strangled sob that had been sitting in the back of her throat forever. It sounded like the cry of a wounded animal. Something inside of her scattered she would never be able to put back together. He was gone and left her nothing but a memory to desperately cling to. What had made him this unique person, this wonderful, equivocal man she loved so much, his soul or essence or whatever one liked to call it, was gone. She would never again catch him smiling at her softly, when he thought she wasn't looking, never again hold her hand with those slender and graceful fingers of his, never again would they laugh together at private joke they shared…never again. She buried her face in the front of his robes, inhaling the scent of him, knowing that maybe it was the last time she could and that she would probably forget how he smelled together with all the many other little things that were so important, though that was the last thing on earth she wanted to.

She cried, uncaring whether her pitiful sobs would be heard by anyone. Her chest felt like it would burst; her throat so incredibly tight as if someone were strangling her. Her fingers were digging into the woolly fabric of his robes, trying to hold on to something she had already lost. God, how she wished to feel his arms around her now!

It had been easy to ignore her own injuries, thanks to the constant rush of adrenaline that had flooded her system, but now they were making her presence known again. Bodily pain was mingling with grief, letting a fresh wave of despair wash over her. "Don't leave me. Don't leave me. Please, don't leave me!" she thought over and over again. The thought was permeating every fibre of her being, it was in her inhales and exhales, in her heartbeat, it was the salt in every tear she cried. As she kept chanting it like a mantra, she felt her own consciousness slowly slipping away from her, black creeping in from the corners of her vision. Her head pressed to his chest, she could hear the steady but very faint thud thud thud of a heart inside her ears. Probably the beating of her own heart. But what good would it do now, when she wanted nothing more rip it out of her chest? With that last, rather gruesome thought, she lost consciousness.

*

When she came to again she was staring at the white, rather sombre ceiling of a hospital room. The second her consciousness emerged from the pleasant daze of sleep, reality came crashing in again. She groaned and ran her hand through her hair, actually pulling at it. For the mercy of God, couldn't this just have been a nightmare from which she would wake and he would be there again?

Now that she was awake she would have to deal with the rest of the world. And the rest of the world included prying nurses, serious looking healers and possibly even some journalists who wanted to pump her for information. She wasn't sure she was ready for that yet. In fact she wasn't sure whether she ever wanted to face the world again.

Dressed in this skimpy green hospital gown, lying in this bed that wasn't her own, she felt rather vulnerable. She wanted nothing but to go home and curl up on her sofa and cry until she fell asleep again.

To her great dismay her awakening had not gone by unnoticed. She would have loved to spend a few more minutes on her own. Though solitude was unbearable to her, since her thoughts always ended up spiralling around him, she couldn't stand being around other people either. All they did was annoy her.

In came a young man, looking vaguely familiar and dressed in the same mint green robes all healers at St. Mungo's wore. The colour of his robes attracted her attention more than the fact that she seemed to know him from somewhere. It looked like radioactive puke. Given her foul mood she had half the mind to point it out to him. The thought that Severus would have liked that tempted her even more.

"Good morning, Miss Carter, how are you feeling today?" he asked looking up at her over the rim of his clip board.

She harrumphed, regarding him with a raised eyebrow. "Bloody fantastic."

"Miss Carter, I'm sorry…but erm…you don't mind if I call you Abigail, do you? We're about the same age…"

"I don't think that will be necessary." The situation oddly felt like a deja vu.

The young healer looked at her in surprise, blinking a couple of times before he continued, seemingly unscathed. "Your injuries healed up nicely, I can see." He stepped closer, examining her face with a critical eye. "No scaring, as expected. Good. Good."

"So there's actually no reason you will have to lock me up here for all eternity then."

"No, you will be able to leave tomorrow morning. Your friend however…"

"My friend?!"

"Yes, your friend. The man you were brought in together with…let me check…Severus Snape?" He shot the young woman a worried look. All colour had left her face, unbeknownst to her fingers were holding the blanket in a death grip, so tight in fact, that he was worried she would dig holes into the fabric.

"What about him?" she asked impatiently.

"He will need a lot of care until we can release him. Luckily we've managed to stabilize him. It's a small wonder he's still alive. He should be dead by all accounts. Nobody has ever survived the poison of a magical creature this powerful."

The young healer stopped talking when he noticed his patient throwing back the covers and shortly after swinging her legs over the edge of bed.

"You're not supposed to leave bed…" he started to say, but in spite of his protest she was already at her feet. The linoleum floor was unpleasantly cold underneath her feet, but she was as unheeding of the cold as she was of the healer's exhortations.

"Miss Carter," he said more sternly, stepping in her way to keep her from leaving the room. Now she would have to acknowledge his presence and finally come to her senses. She looked up him in wonder which was quickly eclipsed by an angry frown.

"Get out of my way," she said in a vacant, emotionless tone, her eyes fixed on the door behind him. In her thoughts, she had already walked through it.

"You need to rest. You still haven't fully recovered. Need I list your injuries? Though not individually serious, you'll soon find that the healing process requires you to stay in bed, at least for a few more days. Even though potions work magic in the most literal sense, you can't expect any miracles. The patient still has to cooperate, you know."

"Oh, piffle!" She discarded his concern with a wave of her hand, already walking towards the door again, completely disregarding the fact she was wearing nothing but a flimsy hospital nightgown.

"Miss Carter," he huffed, "this is an outrage! I request you…"  
"You have no right to request anything." She had turned around, shooting daggers at him with her eyes from across the room. "Do you have any idea…" She stopped momentarily trying to regain her composure, but failed. "Do you have the slightest idea what I've been through?! Last time I checked this was a hospital and not a prison. Now you take me to Severus! If you think I'll calmly lie around in my bed and wait till you kindly decide to let me see him, think again!"

He gulped. "Down the corridor, take a left. The ICU is down the hall, through the double winged glass door. Third door to the right. Your aunt…"

"She there as well. I know. Thank you." She nodded at him briefly before she left the room.  
Abigail marched down the long hospital corridors. The row of rooms to her left and right flew past her quickly. Her eyes were determinedly fixed ahead; they didn't neither perceive gaping nurses nor the details of her surroundings.

Then she was through the door, standing inside the room that once before held her own private purgatory. It had not been real before, she reminded herself, but this time around it was. She was quite sure of that.

Her eyes wandered over her aunt's quiet sleeping form. She looked exactly as she last remembered her, then they settled on him. For a while she could do nothing but stand in the doorframe motionlessly and just stare at him. There he was, lying on his bed as if sleeping. No, not sleeping, as the tubes through which healing potions trickled into his veins so readily testified. He was unconscious.

She had to process this situation first before she could move again. He was alive. Her eyes, as if to verify it, fell on his chest that was rising and falling in regular intervals. Yes, definitely alive. She took a few steps towards him, suddenly overcome with the urge to touch his hand to prove to herself that this wasn't just a dream, another illusion that would leave her behind her hurt and confused.

He looked pale and vulnerable. She had never seen him like that and it scared her beyond belief. To her he was always the strong one. Someone that made you turn your head when he entered a room. Even if he didn't want the attention he got it because of his presence, because of the authority his strong personality commanded. Now that charisma was gone. He looked breakable. Her fingers cautiously wrapped around his wrist. She still needed to reassure herself this was real, however horrid the situation was.

His face was ashen and the unhealthy tone of his skin was even more accentuated by his dark hair. He looked dishevelled. He never did. It irritated her, made her angry at those nurses who had quickly scurried off to the next patient without buttoning up his nightshirt properly, without taking the time to comb the hair out of his face. She bent over him, her fingers caressing his cheek softly before they smoothed back his hair.

She had no intention moving from his side. Not until he finally woke up. She would stay as long as it would take. Her eyes searched the room for a chair to sit down in, but could find none. Maybe she should sit down on the edge of his bed, she briefly deliberated, but then she became aware of all those tubes again. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all.

As she stood there lost in thoughts, her feet were getting colder and colder, in fact her toes had gotten numb already. Slowly she became acutely aware of her lack of clothing, that only a flimsy piece of fabric stood between her and total nudity. A shudder went through her frame. Where was her wand? She needed to conjure up a dressing gown or a blanket. Just anything that would stop her from freezing.

Suddenly she noticed a motion behind her and whipped around in surprise. Her sides ached when she moved too quickly, a reminder of the broken rips that had been mended recently. The young healer from before was standing in the doorframe, looking somewhat insecure.

"You again?! What do you want?" she snapped. Her voice sounded drained rather than vitriolic, as she had intended.

He graciously ignored her question, but only because he had been in the room long enough to see her how much her behaviour changed around that man lying unconscious on his sickbed, oblivious to how much this woman worried and cared for him.

"I came to tell you that I had an idea. We could fit another bed inside this room, so you can stay here."

His proposal momentarily dumb-founded her, then she managed to get out something like a mumbled excuse, followed by a rather hasty acceptance and ashamed 'thank you'.

"Don't thank me too soon. Actually, it would be the hospital that would have to thank you. You see those damned finances. We can hardly afford to have one single patient occupy a whole room all by himself."

"I see," she said and something akin to a smile was delineating on her face. "Sorry, I was so rude before."

"As you rather fittingly said before, this is a hospital. Things like that are bound to happen from time to time."

tbc


	14. Chasing Pavements

**AN**:_ Thanks to the fabulous __**anti_social_ite**__. My beta, friend and fellow Who!obsessee_ :)

There were very few things she hated as much as she did hate waiting. As a matter of fact come to think of it, she couldn't come up with anything she hated more than waiting. She was one of those people who could scarcely manage to sit still for half an hour, always busy, always trying to make the most of her days. Now all she could do was wait until he finally woke up. The healers had given her little cause for hope that that would happen anytime soon, but she refused to give up.

She had been released a couple of days ago and had taken a lot of persuasion to at least get her to go home and pack a few things before she return to resume her wake at his bedside. Abigail had hastily stuffed her belongings into a backpack, without caring whether the clothes she randomly ripped from their hangers actually matched. Then she had hurried down the stairs, pausing only briefly at their bottom. When she had taken stock about a week ago hadn't there been a book about dreams and subconscious use of magic, she had wondered.

Now she was sitting by his bedside again, leafing through said book, a frown on her face. Most of what it said was complete and utter rubbish. There existed a lot of theories about subconscious magic use, most of which were rather pseudo-scientific and probably cooked up by some bored housewife who wanted to add meaning to her otherwise meaningless life by interpreting things into dreams that weren't really there. Romantic drivel about white knights in shining armours, destinies entwined and eventually fulfilled – maybe she was a cynic, maybe too much had happened, but she was having a lot of trouble believing that.

"If you were awake, we'd probably have a good laugh about all this," she said quietly, as she closed the book and laid it on his bedside table. "There are just as full of crap as those people who think Divination anything other than a complete waste of time."

As usually he showed no reaction whatsoever. He was just lying there, completely still. Only the regular up and down motion of his ribcage reassured her that he was still alive. His face still had an unhealthy parlour, but not as much though as a few days ago.

"I'm not sure how much more of this I can take," she whispered with downcast eyes. Then an amusing thought hit her, the corners of her mouth ever so slightly curved upward. "One might think I'm actually a pretty annoying person. Everybody I care about pulls a Sleeping Beauty on me, just to escape my constant babble, it seems. But hey, tough luck. I'm still talking to you, aren't I?" Just after the words had left her mouth, she wrinkled her nose in a dissatisfied manner, shook her head, then rubbed her hands over her face tiredly.

"Merlin, what am I doing? I'm starting to sound borderline insane." She got up from her chair and started pacing. These days her trousers were sitting a bit looser, her features were a little more edged, because she often skipped meals. The shadows under her eyes were telltale signs of many nights spent waking. Her clothes were crumbled up from sitting too long, but also because she didn't bother to iron them. Her thoughts always evolved around him, when she wasn't with him she did everything in a hurry just to get back. Applying make-up slowed her down, as did cooking or having a brief lie-down, so she simply didn't do it.

"The thing is … if I don't talk there's going to be this silence…this bloody damn maddening silence, you know." She stopped walking back and forth and watched him for a while. There was a lump in her throat, which she unsuccessfully tried to swallow down. Her voice cracked a little when she continued talking. "I wish I knew what to do. I wish I could do something, but I'm quite useless really. All I can do is sit and wait. And God knows that's not a lot. Oh, and of course, crying. I've done my share of that, thank you very much. Which is oh so pathetic and senseless, I'm quite aware of that. But what else is there to do? What else…" Her eyes wandered from his sleeping form to the window. The branches of an oak were rocking back and forth in front of it slowly. For a while she watched in childlike wonder, but then broke out of her momentary daze to resume her previous place next to his bed.

"Can't you just do me this one small favour and hurry back? I know you're not used to doing favours, but can't you make one small exception?" She wasn't really expecting an answer. She wasn't really expecting anything.

His hands were resting above the covers, long slender white fingers that were disquietingly motionless. She reached out and took his left hand in hers. Her fingers tenderly stroked over the back of his hand, his knuckles, the tips of his fingers.

*

He awoke slowly. As if slowly crawling out of a pitch black cave towards the light his consciousness gradually resurfaced from deep sleep. Before he even opened his eyes, the dulled and distant ache of his healing wounds made itself known and reassured him that this was in fact reality. He blinkingly opened his eyes. Everything was unfocused, offensively white and smelling of disinfectants. So this was definitely not the afterlife then, but rather some hospital or a rather shabby but clean part of Heaven. He experimentally moved his fingers and found that they still obeyed his command. He was rather pleased.

There was a weight on his left hand. He moved his head cautiously to see Abigail who was still holding his hand as she lay sleeping in what looked like a rather uncomfortable position. She was sitting in her chair bent over so that she could at least rest her head on his bed. Her fingers were curled possessively around his hand even in her sleep.

He gave them a soft squeeze, oblivious to the fact that this small gesture would be enough to wake her from her sleep. She sleepily sat up in her chair, the creases of the bed linen imprinted on her cheek. Her eyes met his questioningly, then widened impossibly.

"You're awake," she whispered. "You're awake!" It broke out of her as a cry of relief when she said it a second time. She was flustered and her eyes were bright and watery with unshed tears, but in spite of it she was smiling, beaming even. She had never been happier in her life. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, but her forwards motion was stopped by the tube of the IV-drip that was running into his arm. Her eyes searched his, asking for permission. He was surprised to see her so hesitant, after all that had happened between them, at the same time realizing that most of had just been an illusion. So that was probably why. He gave her slow nod, even dared to smile a little. She softly smiled in response and cautiously leaned over to press a lingering kiss to his temples. He closed his eyes savouring the sensation of her lips against his skin, which made him feel comforted and at home, at least momentarily.

She drew back all too soon and announced in a voice a shaky voice that she was going to call the healer. He could practically already see all that little wheels inside her head spinning. She was beginning to feel insecure and self-conscious. It was rather obvious by the way she was acting, all jittery and nervous.

He wasn't one for whispered messages of reassurance of love, but nevertheless he felt the need to calm her. "If you'd kindly stop worrying yourself over nothing, dear, you'd actually realize, that we're going to be fine." His voice was surprisingly clear even though he had slept so long.

She was momentarily taken aback by his brusqueness, but than the meaning of his words managed to get through to her and she smiled at him.

*

Severus Snape was about to ask out a woman on a date for the first time in his life. Not just any woman, though, mind you, the woman whose presence made facing each day more tolerable for him and yet she had the power of turning his existence into living hell if she pleased just as easily. Surprisingly this was something that also attracted him to her. She had the odd talent of making the worries that occupied his mind appear ridiculous and she could weather his temper like no one before. He knew a lot about her already, but it didn't seem enough to him. And he had the sneaking suspicion that this feeling wouldn't change however long he knew her.

Knowing all that about her, made it all the more difficult for him to actually ask her out. It made him nervous and above all frustrated him, because each time the opportune moment presented itself, he shied away from asking.

He had the distinct feeling, however, that he needed to ask her or at least signal his interest in her in some way, because ever since he had awoken she had kept a certain distance. Although she spent a lot of time sitting at his bedside, chatting away merrily, she never took his hand in hers anymore. She shied away from physical contact, though he knew for a fact that she desired it thanks to the way her fingers would sometimes twitch treacherously when her hand was lying next to his. What was different now? What was she waiting for? He had asked himself those questions repeatedly and had come up with only one possible answer. Reassurance. She needed some kind of sign that his interest in her hadn't faded, that whatever relationship they had had not just been an illusion.

Now that he had been released from that blasted hellhole that regular people called a hospital, he was finally free to act accordingly. Having recovered from his injuries he also felt up to the task, at least now he would be able to walk about without feeling dizzy. Or maybe not. Her presence sometimes did make him feel dizzy, but in the most pleasant way imaginable.

Oh, rubbish! Since when had he become that appallingly sentimental to actually call dizziness pleasant? He was still cursing his own foolishness under his breath when had reached Diagon Alley and came to stand in front of her bookshop. For some odd reason he was hesitant to enter. Beyond this door a crucial turning point was awaiting him. Either this experience would turn out to be the biggest disappointment of his adult life or it would allow him a glimpse into a future he had not dared hope for – not anymore. Merlin, this had to stop! He was turning into a blithering, pitiful romantic sod.

Unexpectedly the door in front of him suddenly swung open. Startled he looked up to see Abigail standing in front of him with a grin on her face.

"Hi!" She grinned. "You look surprised to see me. You do remember this is my shop, don't you? So by all accounts, you shouldn't be surprised to see me here."

"I was contemplating entering," he remarked glaring at her disapprovingly. She was teasing him and he didn't particularly like the feeling of being the butt of the joke, especially when he was nervous.

"Oh, alright then. Shall I leave you to it then? Though I'd suggest you continue your musings over there," she pointed to the shop window to their right. "You're blocking the entrance and above all it's somewhat disconcerting having a black shadow hovering in front of your door."

The cheek! He had the sneaking suspicion that she was trying to wind him up on purpose. Two could play that game. An evil glimmer sparkled in his eyes when he said the next words. "Charming! Is that how you treat most of your costumers? No small wonder more and more people give up on reading."

She entirely stepped out of the door, an amused grin on her face. Although she was effectively invading his personal space, he didn't care to step aside. From this proximity he could clearly make out the soft laughter lines forming around a pair of eyes that was sparkling at him enticingly. When she flipped back her hair he could smell her shampoo, see the exposed white skin of her neck. He licked his lips, suddenly feeling his mouth go dry.

"Do I make you nervous?" she asked mirthfully.

"Don't be so vain. Your presence is hardly that awe-inspiring."

"Maybe I should relieve you from it then." Abby said casually.

"That would be most kind," he heard himself say, while his inner voice let out a scream of frustration. This situation was turning out entirely different than he had wanted to. He was messing this up thoroughly. What surprised him, though, was the fact that she hadn't moved an inch in the meantime.

"Alright. Fine. Let me sum up the situation very briefly. You came here to see me, because let's face it, if you wanted a book you could just as easily stay at Hogwarts which, I hear, has a very fine library. Then you lost your nerve and chose insult me instead of doing whatever it was you came to do. Does that about cover it?" She looked at him curiously with her head tilted to the left.

Instinctively he would have denied everything, because her assessment of the situation was frighteningly close to the truth, but fortunately he did give his answer some thought this time around. So instead of putting his foot in his mouth again, he actually managed to say something halfway nice, at least by his standards. "Though not entirely an adequate assessment…"

She rolled her eyes at him, effectively keeping him from finishing the sentence. However, it was rather a gesture of mock annoyance than of the genuine kind. "Please, Severus, not that again. I appreciate the effort, but honestly by this rate we won't get anywhere till we're both old geezers, so I'll make this easy for you, because we've been through this excruciating courtship period once before. And once was already more than enough, thank you very much."

He looked at her in puzzlement, but could do nothing but nod in confusion as she calmly continued. "If you came here say to ask me whether I wanted to go on a date with you, the answer would be a definite 'yes', although keep in mind that right now we're just talking hypothetically and my answer is of course also hypothetical as well."

So she did actually want to hear him say the words out loud. He swallowed hard, then summed up enough courage to finally ask her. "Alright then. Fine. You wouldn't mind if I called on you from time to time, would you?" His words had not been particularly polite, as a matter of fact he sounded rather bored. But his usual façade of self-effacement was more transparent to her than he thought. The way he regarded her now, almost anxiously, did not escape her notice.

She smiled, effectively shattering his fears. "Would I mind? Are you daft? Of course, I want to spend some time with you. About bloody time you asked too."

He allowed a relieved smile to creep over his countenance as well. "You didn't seem so inclined…"

"I wanted to give you time to make up your mind." Her words were soft spoken, but standing so close to her, he could hear them very well.

"There would have been no need. My mind was already made up from the start," he answered his voice equally low and confidential.

"Well," there was an emotional quiver in her voice, "then I have you know there are a couple of other things to which I'd answer with a definite 'yes' as well."

"Being?" There was a slight edge of panic to his voice. When woman said things like that they were usually alluding to something particular. The one day they all dream of. When they finally get a decent excuse to dress like a crème buff and stuff obscene amounts of cake down there throats. He shivered visibly at the thought.

It didn't take long until she realized she had put her foot in her mouth once again. She blushed. "Don't panic. I wasn't taking about _that_ particular question."

"You weren't?" Great, now he sounded offended. Did she interpret the look of horror wrong or was it just that he tended to take just about everything the wrong way.

"Not that it would be such a bad thing," she hastily tried to back-paddle. "Just that…well, right now…with all the stuff going on and that other stuff we've just been through…" Oh, yes! Very smooth! How breathtakingly eloquent!

He had the grace to smirk at her ever so slightly. "I think you should better stop before this gets anymore embarrassing…for you."

"Smug bastard," she mumbled, but not without suppressing a grin.

"Harpy," he muttered.

"So, nice you've dropped by. I can't remember when trading insults has ever been that much fun."

"Yes, this is rather productive so far."

"So, enough with the stalling already - are you now going to ask your questions? …Well, just not obviously that one, you know."

"You're not making things easier this way." He looked at her with a frown.

"Not right now. No. I'm well aware of that. But I'm fed up with this situation. It's going nowhere. So ask away. At least we'll finally know where we're standing. It's less tiresome that way, don't you think?"

"You don't seem to want to waste anymore time." He looked at her with narrowed eyes. It was not a disapproving look as such he was just trying to figure out what was going on in that head of hers.

"Yes, I'd say we've already wasted enough time. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes," he admitted finally.

So after a couple of seconds had passed in tense silence he finally asked his first question. It was a comparatively harmless one and just meant to test the waters. "Do I seem changed to you, I mean compared to…"

"You mean compared to the person I got to know in the dream? No," she paused. "Do I?"

"No."

Upon that they exchanged shy smiles. By the time he asked his next question she was nervously picking at her nails, while his palms had turned cold and sweaty.

"Do you love me?" Wow, this question was rather straightforward, but she didn't hesitate to answer.

"Yes."

"Yes?" he seemed surprised. Any other man would have probably been showering her with kisses by now, but he was too rational and more importantly too reserved, to be doing just that. She had to be patient and wait until he came around. His readiness to play this straightforward game of answer and question was already a great concession from his side. She didn't want to push her luck, but she couldn't have sat around for another month or so until things would have worked out on their own. She was fed up with waiting! However, to at least accommodate him a little, she bravely fought down the urge to direct the same question at him.

"Any other question? Ask away?" The way he looked at her left her with a feeling of nervous giddiness. She could see he needed to work up quite a lot of courage for the next one.

"Yes, actually there is," he cleared his throat nervously. "Do you still want to be with me?"

"Yes." Again no hesitation from her side.

He didn't know whatever devil drove him to ask the next question, how he had suddenly gone from asking her for something as casual as a date to taken their relationship to the next level. "It's not too early to ask you to come live with me, is it?" He waited for the feeling of panic to set in, but it simply wouldn't come. He really wanted this, he discovered to his surprise. All the more anxious it made him to wait for her answer.

She hadn't expected him to ask something like that. This was Severus Snape after all. As a matter of fact, she would have expect him to ask that particular question no early than about one decade in the future or probably even later, when they both were old and wrinkly. No, come to think of it, if she was truly honest with herself, she hadn't thought he would ask her at all. Ever.

"I should have known. It was a foolish thing to ask really…," he was about to continue, but fell silent when he heard her soft spoken 'yes'. For a while he looked at her in utter, complete shock and ere he could question whether he had really heard her agree, she was kissing him, her hands digging into the fabric of his black robes possessively as if she never wanted to let go of him ever again. And yes, his façade finally slipped entirely, and he allowed himself to kiss her back equally passionately and with an intensity of emotion he had so long suppressed.

It was midday, a nice and sunny one, and Diagon Alley was practically buzzing with people, some of which stopped to watch the kissing couple. Both of them were slightly dazed when they broke apart. To their great surprise they found themselves surrounded by a small crowd which was applauding and wolf-whistling.

Of course, Severus was extremely uncomfortable with the whole situation. If she hadn't known him as well as she did, the scowl on his face would have been a dead giveaway.

"Bugger," he whispered under his breath.

"Oh, shut up!" she whispered back through her teeth. "Just smile and bow."

tbc


	15. The Happy Prince

**AN**:_ This's the end of the journey. And what a journey it's been. Thank you, __**anti_social_ite**__ for providing me with inspiration and encouragement! You've done an amazing job beta-ing this whole thing._

She sat in the comfortable leather chair in front of Severus's desk reading a book while she was waiting for him to finish grading his essays. His occasionally swearing sometimes caught her attention and made her look at him amusedly over the edge of her book. Sometimes their eyes met and his gaze would soften a little once it settled on her.

The scene was obscenely domestic, but she didn't care about that particularly, because never in her life had she felt so much at home than she did with him. True, living in the dungeons of a drafty old castle filled with noisy adolescents wasn't everybody's idea of a perfect life, but to her it came pretty damn close to it.

Ever since she moved in with him, they had had their occasionally rows. Alright, their rows occurred more than just occasionally. They came in fairly regular intervals, but they were never serious. Their arguments often circled around nonsensical everyday things. She secretly regarded their spats as stress-release and the reconciliation that always came afterwards was also very relaxing indeed.

The feeling of his eyes on her ripped her out of her reverie. She lowered her book to look at him questioningly. "Should I be flattered by the fact that you've been staring at me for at least five minutes or should I be concerned?"

"I wasn't staring at you."

"Gee, love! I sometimes wonder why I fell for you. You're such a sweet talker."

Her comment got her an evil smirk. "Actually, I was more interested in your book. You seem to be awfully determined not to let the subject drop."

"What subject?" She asked innocently, trying to postpone the inevitable.

He lowered his quill, leaning back comfortably in his chair. So this was going to take a while. "You know fully well what I'm talking about. You're still trying to find an explanation for the things that have happened."

"Frankly, I can't understand why you were so ready to let the whole subject drop. Especially something major as this. Normally you're the one between the two of us who can't let things go."

"Dream links, subconscious magic use, well all those theories sound awfully constructed, don't you think?" He asked her, his index finger tracing his top lip pensively.

"Yes, they do. But can you honestly come up with a better explanation for…well, for everything?" she disposed of the book, putting it on the floor next to her chair. The bolstering of the old chair squeaked ever so slightly when she moved.

"Fine, I'll humour you. So, what exactly did you manage to find out?" He looked at her expectantly, fixing her with his best arrogant I-am-smarter-than-thou professor gaze.

She hesitated briefly, because no matter how plausible her explanation might actually appear to her, spoken out aloud, it even sounded asinine to her own ears.

"Alright," Abigail sighed. "The theory is slightly, I repeat ever so slightly new-agey, so even though you think it all complete and utter rubbish, would you please hear me out before you start taking it apart?" He merely raised an eyebrow at her, but motioned her to continue.

"Good…Well, alright. Muggles think that when two people who are very close to each other…" He was about to comment on that, but she held up her index finger admonishingly, so he stayed silent.

"Remember? You've promised to be good. Now were was I…Oh, yeah, when they are very close to each other, say mother and daughter or husband and wife, and something terrible happens to the other person, they somehow know. This book says it is because they share a mental connection."

Having explained that part of the theory, she stopped to allow him to voice his criticism. If she didn't, he would only grow impatient and more acerbic, she had learned.

"See, your little theory is flawed to begin with. We didn't even know each other back then, so how could there be a connection?" He reasoned, unable to keep a complacent under-tone from his voice.

"Good point. I gave that one quite some thought. Maybe it was because our situations were pretty similar that day. I mean, well, I don't know about you, but for me that was pretty much rock bottom. I didn't expect to come out of that one alive." She paused, feeling somewhat vulnerable and ridiculous actually saying out the next part aloud, but then she did anyway. "In all honesty…I expected to die that night."

"I understand," he said.

"As did you, I assume." The question mark at the end of her sentence was hard to overhear.

"Yes," he answered simply.

"Well, there you have you're explanation."

"Very far-fetched," he observed contemptuously.

"Maybe, but can you come up with anything better?"

"No, not off the top of my head," Severus relented. "So let's hear the rest of this truly asinine theory of yours."

"So very gracious of you, thank you," her eyes sparkled at him dangerously from across the room as she continued. "Anyway, does it seem very likely that two people should find themselves in almost the exact same situation at the exact same time? Didn't you like me wish for another chance back then? I know I most certainly did."

His silence spoke volumes, so she refrained from digging deeper.

"Then tell me, dearest Miss Carter, how I came to survive Nagini's attack."

"Subconscious magic."

"And how did you subconsciously keep me from dying? By sheer willpower maybe?" By then his tone was heavily laden with irony.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm thinking. They say that Muggles are sometimes able to channel into unknown physical strength in situations of extreme distress. There was a mother, for example, who was able to lift the weight of a whole car to free her children who were trapped underneath it. If things like that can happen in the Muggle world, why shouldn't it be the same in the Wizarding World?"

He rolled his eyes. "You have to be kidding me. Honestly, do you even hear what you're saying?! You're sounding completely ridiculous. You'd better stop spouting this nonsense before I start second guessing your intellect. You don't believe in Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny too, do you?"

She glared at him, suppressing the urge to say all those nasty things that lay on the tip of her tongue. Instead she got to her feet and started pacing in front of his desk. Back and forth, back and forth. Keep calm. Just keep calm.

"So how come you can accept what has happened so easily? How come you didn't feel the need to find out the truth?"

"Maybe, because I didn't want to waste my time reading trashy books filled with half-assed theories."

"Oh, you think you're so clever, aren't you? The great almighty and wise Professor Snape of Slytherin!" Her loud voice carried through the heavy wooden door of his office and made a bunch of second year students that were just walking by, speed up considerably.

"They're at it again! Let's better hurry before…" The door behind them swung open with a bang and Abby stormed out seconds later, brushing passed the group of children with a couple of angry strides without even noticing them. An angry groan could be heard coming from Professor Snape's office, before the very same also appear in the corridor to follow the angry woman that had just taken off seconds before.

His eyes were sparkling dangerously as he looked around the corridor in search of Abby. Unable to tell whether she had taken a turn to the left or to the right, he questioned the only witnesses available.

"You!" The students froze in terror when Snape's irate voice boomed through the corridor.

"Yes, sir," the bravest one of them answered, a little Gryffindor with light-brown hair.

"Tell me where that infernal woman ran off to!" He snarled ill-humouredly.

The boy nodded dimly and pointed to the right, at which the Professor stormed off in the indicated direction without even a single word of thanks, not that the students were particularly sorry he had. Actually, they were rather relieved to see him go

He caught up with Abby before she could make her way up the stairs that led out of the dungeons. A couple of angry glares and muttered insults were exchanged, before both of them become aware of the fact that they were once again making a public spectacle out of their spat.

"The garden?" he hissed.

"Again? I'd prefer the greenhouse."

"Alright. Let's go then shall we?"

They made their way in complete silence, briskly walking next to each other without sparing one another a single glance. By the time they had reached their destination both of their tempers had cooled considerably, though not to the point were a normal and above all rational conversation was possible.

The greenhouse lay in front of them completely deserted. Thankfully Sprout scheduled most of her classes for the morning, so that by late afternoon the greenhouse was rather peaceful and quiet. Abigail liked spending time there, sometimes brought a book and a cup of tea along to enjoy the blissful silence of the place. However, standing in front of the greenhouse's entrance now, shooting daggers with her eyes at Severus, she highly doubted that her stay here would even be half as pleasant as it usually was.

He pushed the door open and motioned her to enter with a mock bow. His display of manners was of course only meant to irritate her further. She carefully schooled her face not wanting to afford him the satisfaction of actually seeing her get angry, and walked past him.

"So why did you come after me?" she asked, the second he had pulled the door behind them closed and placed a Silencing Charm on it. "We both know that right now there's no point talking, unless you feel like trading insults. I don't know about you, but I'm more than up to the task."

"By Merlin, one day I swear I will hex you, woman! To think that I was actually trying to reason with you, explain why I didn't…Oh, forget about it! You're right. There's no point in talking right now."

Their conversation had started out as hissed sibilant whisper, but now feeling completely unobserved, they were nearly shouting at each other.

The flutter of wings over their heads directed their attention upwards. It was a little bird that had been probably scared up by their loud voices. She squinted her eyes to better make it out - a swallow. How on earth did a swallow end up in the greenhouse? Given Severus's frown he was probably thinking something along the same lines. The little bird was headed straight for certain death in the form of a glass window.

"Bloody suicidal bird!" She heard the ill-humoured man next to her growl as he begrudgingly drew his wand. "St…" The incantation died on his lips, when he saw her throw a stone from the edge of his vision. It neatly smashed the window towards which the little bird was so determinedly headed, allowing it to fly the greenhouse.

"You just broke a bloody window in the bloody greenhouse," he looked at her in surprise, entirely forgetting his anger and also his language.

She grinned at him somewhat smugly. "I know. It was kind of…."

"Liberating?" He offered.

"Yes," she answered somewhat wistfully. "Wanna try?"

He briefly contemplated her offer, then politely declined. "You know you can't come here and smash windows every time we have a fight, do you?"

"Of course, love. But didn't you see the greater good behind it all?" She asked with a smile on her face.

He grumbled something unintelligible, but their previous exchange had left her with no doubt that this was, just as usually, another display of ill-humour and not true, heartfelt anger.

"See, I'll even be nice and make up for it." She drew her wand and directed it at the window in question. "Reparo!" The shattered pieces of glass neatly put themselves back together.

"Happy now?"

"Hardly. Seems like you've finally learned to clean up after yourself, though."

"What's that got to mean?"

"Nothing." He glared at her.

"Alright." She took a couple of calming breaths. He was just trying to wind her up purposefully once again, so she would forget about what she they initially wanted to talk about. "We still have unfinished business to attend to. So…" She looked at him expectantly.

He rolled his eyes at her. Why are women always so obsessed with the idea that talking things through would make the world a better place? "Alright. Well, you wanted to know why I didn't investigate the matter…" Severus started reluctantly.

"Yes, I still do."

"Apparently," he muttered.

"What was that?" She looked at him disapprovingly.

"Have you suddenly gone deaf? I said 'apparently'." He said a little bit louder, looking at her challengingly.

"Gee, Severus, could it be that you're particularly testy today?"

"I'm just being my usual charming-self." He shrugged his shoulders. "But maybe it's just my reaction to you being particularly annoying today."

"Why? Just because I won't let this drop? Must be something really major if you're getting so worked up about it…" She threw him a meaningful look.

"I am not getting worked up." Each word was uttered with utmost precision and separated from the next by a meaningful pause. Of course, he was also shooting daggers at her with his eyes.

"Of course, dear." The smile that accompanied her words was rather disarming and made him realize that he could either have this discussion with her now or let it fester for a few days, during which she would neither talk to him nor let him touch her, so he chose the lesser of two evils.

"Alright, let's get that over with quickly then, shall we?" he sighed. "You see, well, maybe and let me strongly emphasize the 'maybe' I should not have been so quickly to dismiss your theories." This sentence vanquished the last traces of anger from her system.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Just explain to me, why is it that you seem so determined to not let this go?" He looked at her questioningly.

"Well, there's of course the fact that if things hadn't happened the way they did, I never would have found you. You know that I'm not a firm believer the Powers-That-Be or whatever it is that controls this crazy universe. I need explanation, something tangible I can intellectually grasp…So yes, those theories are rubbish, but at least they are something to hold on to."

"Abby…" He seemed to want to say more, but he didn't get past her name. The way he said it, though, the warm, affectionate, though ever so slightly begrudging tone of his voice, made her look at him with a smile. She impulsively reached out and took his hand in hers. He looked startled, but then a relieved expression flitted over his face. They were no longer arguing.

"So how come you're so calm about the whole thing? Aren't you supposed to be the one of us who's second-guessing everything?" She asked after a while.

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on. I don't buy that feigned ignorant act."

"It's not feigned."

"'Course it is."

"Alright." He suddenly seemed highly uncomfortable, therefore growing all the more ill-humoured. "If you must absolutely know…Sometimes I believe it could have been…well…it's not that important actually."

"Oh, please! Will you spit it out already?"

"Alright, I sometimes think that it was destiny," he finally ground out. A faint blush was colouring his cheeks red. Maybe it was a vestige of their spat or maybe he was truly embarrassed by his own words, she couldn't tell.

The thoughts that raced through her head upon hearing his admission were something along the lines of "What you're saying here makes me suspect you've been replaced by a poly-juiced doppelganger or maybe even worse, that late Dumbledore's theory of 'love conquers all' has finally made you go soft in the head." But of course any form of sarcasm was now completely uncalled for. It would have made him close up completely. But what was she supposed to say? His words were so unexpected and completely out of character, she didn't know what to tell him.

"I did it again, it seems. Shut you up quite thoroughly. I think I should be proud of myself. It's not easily accomplished." He was smirking at her. It was that trademark smirk - slight quirk of the corner of his mouth. But it looked strangely out of place in that situation. She could tell that underneath his act he was quite nervous.

"Severus, do you really think so?" She wouldn't let herself be sidetracked by his comment.

"You're not by any chance just asking yourself whether I've finally snapped, do you?" The look that accompanied his question could best be described as insecure.

"No," she said quickly. "I'm just not used to you being…"

"Being not cynical for once?" he supplied.

"Yes, exactly."

"Would it actually be so bad, if just for once I was trying to believe that there actually was a reason behind the things that happen in this world? That the universe wasn't controlled by some malevolent, chaotic force toying with humans just for its own personal amusement?"

"No, not at all." She shook her head in surprise. "But I'm not sure I understand. What are you trying to tell me?"

"I don't know. Maybe that I've started hoping again?"

She smiled at him, one of those deep-felt, genuine smiles, before she pulled him into a tight embrace. "Good," she whispered in his ear.

His arms encircled her without hesitation, pulling her closer to him. She could feel his warm breath against her neck. It tickled her skin. The tension melted from her. She smiled softly and rubbed her cheek against his with a content hum. The gesture had something feline to it and always made him want to kiss her. Maybe it was because it reminded him of how close her mouth was to his, but then it could have also been that attractive little noise she made when she did it. It almost sounded like a purr.

No longer willing or able to resist temptation, he kissed her. The kiss was slow and thorough and seemed more intense than others they had shared before, thanks to the emotional rollercoaster ride that had preceded it. Eventually they broke apart, mainly because the lack of oxygen was getting a minor concern.

"I think we should move this downstairs," she said, panting slightly. "I don't want to be responsible for emotionally scaring the little buggers or anybody else who could walk in on us. After all seeing us snog would be somewhat like catching your Mom and Dad make out."

"Frankly, I don't give a rat's ass about potentially scaring those dunderheads…"

"So I've heard." She grinned at him over her shoulder as she slowly started walking towards the exit of the greenhouse. He was following her, trailing a few steps behind.

THE END

The credits are rolling :)

_Stay forever who you are  
don't change a thing  
because you're perfect_

_You sway gently in the breeze  
In between my dreams  
It kind of makes me nervous_

_You're storm, yeah, the lightning striking down  
To only strike me once, would still be worth it_

_In my dreams you were perfect  
when I woke you were perfect_

_Love, as scaring as it is  
Tell me is it real,  
If it ain't perfect?_

_I pray with the sounding of you faith  
My colours bleed to one  
Nothing grows when your love is gone_

_In my dreams you were perfect  
when I woke you were perfect_

_Hmm, even when you run you're still worth it  
Here and now, the moments perfect  
You're perfect  
So perfect  
When you run  
Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby  
Oh run, yeah_

_Even when you're gone, even when you're here, even when you're not  
You're still, you're still, you're still  
Perfect  
__**Vanessa Amorosi - Perfect**_

**AN: Another one of those infamous author notes at the end. First of all I would like to apologize for leaving you all hanging there without updating for months at end...I hope, I've managed to make up for that by posting the last three chapters all at once. **

**Merry Christmas to all of you and best wishes for the coming year!!!  
**


	16. Botched Proposal

They walked down the corridor together. Just before they reached the door he let go off her hand and shot her a brief look. "Are you sure you want to go in there?" his eyes questioned her. A determined nod was the only answer he got. Severus let out a resigned sigh. "Very well, my love," he said and offered her his arm. "But may I point out that this will well turn out to be one of the most gruesome experiences of our lives."

She smiled at him and shook her head. "As always you're being overly dramatic. Surely battling the Dark Lord must have been a bit more taxing than facing a gathering of former students."

"At this point I will refrain from protesting and just look forward to the pleasure of saying I told you so afterwards," he reached for the door handle. From the inside they could already make out the telltale noise of glasses clinging in a salute against the constant background noise of several people engrossed in conversation and soft music.

When they entered the room briefly all conversation ceased, only to reassume again with more candor merely seconds later.

"Is it just me or were people actually gaping at us when we entered?" her voice quivered ever so slightly from suppressed irritation. As always whenever she was irritated, he tended to be amused. She shot him a sidelong glance to verify her suspicion taking in his aquiline profile and the slight upward curve of the left corner of his mouth.

He subtly tugged at her arm to make her start moving. After all it wasn't the wisest course of action blocking the entrance when you didn't want to draw any more attention to yourself. As they made their way across the room towards the headmistress and the small group of teachers surrounding her, the crowd more than willingly parted to make them room. Abigail was oddly reminded of Moses parting the red sea.

Of course, Severus couldn't refrain from making a sarcastic comment. As they crossed the room he quietly spoke to her, his voice only loud enough for her to hear, his feature carefully neutral. "You must apologize their dreadful behaviour. It's one thing hearing that the greasy git of the dungeons, as my students so loving called me, is supposed to entertain a relationship with a woman, it's another matter entirely, however, seeing this woman with your own eyes. You have to give them credit, my dear, for not taking any longer to eye you up. After all a lot of important questions had to be answered in just a few moments. Most of them probably along the lines of...has he drugged her? Is she here on her own accord? What is she wearing? And most importantly, what does she see in him?"

She was about to answer him, but she had to swallow down all those words of reassurance and affection because they had reached their destination.

"I didn't expect to see you two here tonight, though I'm pleasantly surprised that Severus could be persuaded to come after all," Minerva McGonagall greeted them. The second half of her sentence directly specifically at Abigail. There was a telltale glint in the old woman's eyes that was bordering on mischievous.

"Well, after you forwarded your invitation to this event… with so much enthusiasm we could hardly decline," Abigail responded. By now the headmistress positively looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. Abigail would call the fact that Minerva knowingly dragged Severus into situations like this despite knowing he detested social gatherings a form of motherly teasing, Severus, however, would have doubtlessly called it sadistic glee.

"I hope it didn't take too much convincing," Minerva conspiratorially lowered her voice and briefly squeezed Abigail's arm. The headmistress was in oddly good spirits today.

"Well…," Abigail consciously decided on leaving the rest of sentence to Minerva's imagination because she could all to well feel Severus's gaze on her face.

"To be honest, Minerva. It took more time for Abigail to choose a dress than to convince me to come." He leant in closer to Abigail. The next sentence was determined for her ears only. "Remember your promise."

Despite the effect his words had on her, a faint blush was already starting to spread on her cheeks, she didn't miss a beat. "You're right. I took quite a while today. But unlike you, love, most people's wardrobe varies in colour."

"And yet you chose the black dress," he smirked at her condescendingly.

"Are you two quite finished with that constant bantering of yours?" Minerva interrupted their conversation. Her voice was lacking the distinct sharpness it usually had when she addressed students, but it still commanded enough authority to make Severus and Abigail shut up instantly. Minerva had already overheard their verbal sparring at the dinner table tonight and though she had gotten used to Abigail's presence at Hogwarts, which she by the way regarded as a blessing because it had made the usually gruff Potion Master less abrasive and more easy to deal with, there was only so much of young people's frivolities she could take.

"Yes, sorry, Minerva." Abigail smiled her in an apologetic manner.

"This celebration is in honour of the end of the war. Of those who fought, those who survived and those who died. Now this is not supposed to be about sadness and tears, we all had our share of that, thank you very much, it's about starting a new life. Celebrating life. People are here to see you Severus, they want to talk to you and to Abgail too, of course."

"And pray tell what would we have to say to each other?" Severus enquired.

"Oh, I imagine quite a lot," the old woman smiled. "Now shush and be gone!" She motioned into the vague direction of the punch bowl and before either of them could answer anything Minerva was gone again.

"Has the headmistress just shushed me?" Abgail raised her left eyebrow skeptically.

"Apparently so," he smirked maliciously. "Somebody sooner or later had to."

She couldn't resist sticking out her tongue at him before she turned around to walk away and help herself to a glass of punch. She was surprised to find him following her. He usually wasn't that clingy. She stopped to look at him in surprise. He held her gaze unflinchingly.

"Don't tell me you're going to follow me around all evening just because you don't want to talk to your former students..."

"I don't know whatever got that idea in your head. I was simply being polite."

"Yeah, polite," she let out an unladylike snort, but let it slip for now.

She had just poured herself a glass of punch when she felt Severus's hand on her arm. "Brace yourself!" Whatever this was going to mean from a man who had fought the Dark Lord had her guessing. At least it didn't leave her with a happy feeling of anticipation in the pit of her stomach.

"Professor Snape," she heard a male voice address Severus. She turned around and was greeted by the enthusiastically smiling face of a young man no older than twenty, maybe nineteen. He was average looking and had an intriguing air of shyness and youthful boldness about him. What was she supposed to brace herself for? For being greeted politely? He seemed pleasant enough. She offered him an encouraging smile.

"Mr. Longbotton." Severus's brief nod came as a predictable response to the younger man's greeting.

A brief pause followed during which Abigail waited in vain to be introduced to said Mr. Longbotton. After it became clear that Severus was apparently not ready to remedy that fact she decided to introduce herself. "I'm Abigail Carter, by the way. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Longbotton."

They awkwardly shook hands. The boys palm felt quite sweaty. Apparently it had cost him some courage to walk up to them like that, so she tried to be nice and make things easier on him. Severus seemed to be determined to do the exact opposite of that as he just kept on staring at the poor boy. "So you're one of Severus's former students, I suppose…"

"Yes, yes, I'm studying to be an Auror now."

"Wow, that's quite impressive."

"Yes, quite," Severus remarked not without an excessive amount of sarcasm.

Abigail decided to ignore him. "You're name. It sounds familiar…"

"It does?" The young man seemed to become even more nervous upon hearing that, if that was at all possible.

"Yes, Longbottom…," she chewed her lip pensively. Severus shot her a warning glance as if he wanted to order her not to remember. And precisely in that moment she did. "Longbottom! Weren't you the one…the one who found Severus back when…," she made a vague gesture towards her throat with her hand.

"Yes," Neville answered timidly.

Abigail's next move hit both Severus Snape and Neville Longbotton completely unprepared. She quickly disposed of her drink by shoving it into Severus's hand and hugged the completely confused boy to her.

"Thank you," she said looking him straight in the face when she let go off him again moments later. He looked utterly dazed, if not a bit afraid. Like a puppy that was seconds away from being kicked. Maybe she would have to repeat herself in order to get through to him. "Really, Neville, thank you," she said again and then stepped back.

She shot Severus a stern look. It took a couple of seconds and he rolled her eyes at her before he finally decided to speak up himself. "I guess I have to thank you as well." His words came out as an angry snarl that was barely understandable but at least it was as close to a heartfelt "thanks" as was to be expected of a man like him.

The young man just nodded and smiled shyly. The situation was obviously a bit too much for him. "I'm going to…," he started. "Well, I must be….Anyway." He pointed awkwardly over his shoulder obviously to where his friends were standing waiting for him.

"Of course," she volunteered. "It was nice meeting you, Neville."

"Likewise," he smiled genuinely.

She watched him as he scurried back to his friends. They readily welcomed him back in her midst, clapping him on the shoulder like he just accomplished something great like slaying a dragon.

"Wow, you must really be a terrifying teacher. That one was seconds away from wetting himself." She took a step closer to him and narrowed her eyes as if to make him out better. "You don't seem quite that scary up close."

"Well, you've just had the pleasure of meeting the worst student I have ever had the pleasure of teaching in my long years at Hogwarts."

"Really? He can't have been that bad if they allow him to become an Auror now."

"Apparently they have lowered their standards considerably."

She just laughed at him and playfully squeezed his arm. "Hey, what's up with you tonight? I haven't seen you that tense and irritable in quite some time."

He sighed. "I told you that those kind of gatherings just aren't exactly my favourite pastime…"

"I know that. But last Yule Ball wasn't quite as bad. Is it because of Potter? Or because of that boy we met just now?"

"No," he paused to think, "No, it isn't. Sooner or later I would have had to face them again. You were probably right when you said now is as good a time as any. You can't outrun the past. Especially not now that they found out you're not some harpy who's going to chew off their heads as soon as they approach us," he threw her a sarcastic little smirk. "Can't you be a bit less…"

"Less charming, beautiful, wise and witty?" she volunteered.

"I would have probably worded it differently," she scowled at him and he quickly caught himself towards the end of the sentence, "but yes, basically all of the above," he finally said in mock exasperation.

"So your plan for the rest of the night, Severus? You do know that Minerva expects us to stay at least another hour?"

"I'm well aware of that," he announced darkly.

"I think it's actually quite nice meeting some of your former students."

"Do you now? Well, why don't you go talk to some of them while I'll be lurking in some dark corner until we have fulfilled our duty?"

"So that's your definition of our respective duties. Very interesting. Apparently my duty is talking while yours is lurking."

"Well, we all have our talents…" he smiled at her humorlessly. "I don't want to risk running into Potter so you won't mind if I…"

"Go hide in some dark shadow?" she supplied. "Not at all. I can't believe we are having this conversation just now…Are we really?"

"Apparently so."

"Just don't leave without me."

"What do you take me for? Some heartless bastard?"

She disapprovingly narrowed her eyes at him. "Which I know for a fact you aren't. So don't try to prove me otherwise."

"Duly noted." He briefly squeezed her hand before he left. When he let go, his fingers caressed hers. It was a fleeting touch and barely noticeable. Just as he meant it to be.

So Abigail was left to her own devices. And just as Severus had feared only moments later Harry Potter did indeed turn up. His arrival caused quite the commotion among the students. He had a pretty girl at his side. A red-head, maybe one or two years younger than he was. She watched the young man as he made his way through the crowd. People were patting him on the back, smiling at him, enthusiastically squeezing his hand. Just like he deserved.

The open friendliness and warmth that greeted Harry Potter made Abigail feel jealous on Severus's behave. People were less ready to show him the same sympathy. Of course, his demeanor was partly to blame for that. That and his past. Some sins could simply not be erased from collective memory. To know the whole truth about Severus Snape you needed to look more closely, listen to the whole story and not only just to the beginning or the end. People sometimes lacked the patience for that which was sad but understandable. She pensively swiveled around the punch in her glass. The liquid was almost as red as wine, but tasted sweet and like berries. She took another sip from her drink.

Her talk with Harry Potter was brief but polite. Introductions were made, he even enquired after Severus and seemed honestly disappointed when she couldn't tell him where to find him. She just apologetically shrugged her shoulders. "At least I'm glad to see you, Harry. I'll give him your regards when I'll next see him."

"Which is undoubtedly going to be rather soon…"

"Yes, seeing as we live together that can hardly be avoided," she smiled jokingly.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. He and Ginny exchanged surprised glances. "Apparently you took that advice I gave you back at St. Mungus very seriously. You must have taken a very close second look at him or else your opinion of him wouldn't have changed so drastically."

"Still looking. He's a very difficult man to figure out." Her eyes were sparkling conspiratorially.

"That's the understatement of the year." At that they shared one last laugh together and then he and his girlfriend walked off to greet their other friends.

Actually the rest of the evening turned out to be rather pleasant, that is the rest of the hour they had planned to stay. She was just involved in pleasant chatter with an elderly woman, the grandmother of Hannah Abbot, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She didn't even have to turn around to know it was Severus.

"Oh, my dear, apparently your dear husband has finally found us," the older woman cooed delightedly.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Abbot, but he's not my husband."

The old woman frowned. "Not? But you're living together? Under the same roof?" The irritated undertone in Mrs. Abbot's voice was hard to overhear. In many ways the Wizards were more traditional and old-fashioned than Muggles. Being a child of both worlds, Abigail sometimes tended to forget that. But people were always quick to remind her.

"Not everything has to go according to tradition. These are modern times, Mrs. Abbot. Among Muggles, for example, living together without being married has long become socially acceptable. What if you find out after ten odd years or so that you've changed so much that you don't fit together anymore?"

"Do you really think so, my dear?"

"Are you really asking me whether I believe in love or not? Isn't that are far too personal question? We've only known each other for ten minutes." Abigail laughed nervously and rubbed the back of her neck. She was all too well aware of the fact that Severus was still standing behind her.

"Indulge me. I'm an old woman. I don't have much time to lose."

"Alright," she took a deep breath. "If you must know… I do believe in love, but I just can't bring myself to believe in marriage."

"What a pity…I hope you both agree on that fact," Mrs. Abbot threw Severus a questioning gaze as if you wanted to tell him to finally speak up and make his opinions known.

"I'm not about to share my innermost thoughts on a topic so private with a stranger I've just met, if that's what you wanted to know. Now if you will excuse us…" Severus's well chosen words ended their conversation rather abruptly.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Abbot," Abigail apologized on Severus' and her behalf. "But if you do feel the need to continue this conversation you know where to find me. My bookshop is in Diagon Alley. It's called 'Colliding Worlds'. Feel free to stop by any time."

"Maybe I will, Ms. Carter," the old woman said to Abigail with a warm smile while she was shaking her hand. After his rude remark Severus didn't rank quite so highly in her good graces. He was only bestowed with a lingering dark glance.

"Surprisingly it wasn't as bad as you said it would be," Abigail announced when they finally stepped out on the corridor. But maybe she had spoken too soon because he only glowered at her and muttered something in comprehensible to himself.

"What?" she stopped walking and shot him a questioning gaze. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he snarled at her.

"Nothing!" she looked at him with wide eyes. "It doesn't look and sound like nothing to me."

"Alright, so apparently we have to talk things out again," he rolled his eyes in annoyance. Without any further ado he grabbed her and dragged her behind him, down the corridor, away from laughter and conversation, up several flights of stairs. She just let it happen, because she knew better than to protest. It would only make him more irritable if that was at all possible. Maybe she had managed to put her foot in it again…With her luck she quite definitely had and so it was best to be patient.

She was broken out of her reverie by the protesting croak of an owl. "The owlery? You drag me up to the owlery to have a serious talk? What's next the Shrieking Shack?"

"It's either here or nowhere at all. At least here we'll have some privacy."

"Alright. Fine. What's crawled up your ass this time?" she crossed her arms over her chest. Her patience had already been wearing thin on the way up the stairs and his rude comment from before had been the last straw.

"You dare ask me that?" His voice rose a bit in anger. The grey owl next to him took off with a reproachful shriek, while Abigail remained unfazed by his temper. Living with him for over six months they already had had their fair share of rows, so she had grown accustomed to it.

"Of course, I dare. That's the point of this whole conversation, isn't it?"

"I don't know whether this conversation has a point at all. Actually I've come to wonder whether any conversation with you has a point." His words shocked and stunned her into speechlessness momentarily. They hurt. Usually when they argued they shied away from verbal blows that went below the belt. This time, obviously, all bets were off.

"Maybe I have misjudged you all of this time," he continued, actually managing to sound disappointed and angry at the same time. "Your intentions don't seem to be what I thought them to be."

"My intentions? What?" It slowly started to dawn on her what exactly they had been talking about. "Is this about what I said to Mrs. Abbot back there?" She asked incredulously.

"Was it not your true opinion you spoke?"

"It was just something I said to a stranger. Small talk at a party, nothing more."

"Answer my question."

"What if it was?"

"Then apparently I seem to be under some misunderstanding concerning your character," he said not without a certain amount of regret in his voice.

How did they get from being a relatively happy couple to almost breaking up in the course of mere hours, Abigail wondered. "But what does that have to do with whether I believe in marriage or not?"

"Oh, don't be so daft, woman!" He took a step closer to her, his eyes sparkling dangerously in the dim twilight. For a moment she was almost afraid he was considering pushing her over the edge of the tower. The way he snarled his next words confirmed her in that suspicion. "You practically said to that woman back there that no relationship is meant to last. That sooner or later we all change or minds! That love is just some passing fancy with an expiration date of about ten years into the future! As a consequence I deduced that you don't believe our relationship is going to last. So what's the point in prolonging this misery and waiting another nine years when you already seem to know that it's not going to work out between the both of us?"

She sighed briefly alternating in her desperation between hysterical laughter and tears. What was she supposed to answer to that? How was she supposed to salvage the situation? Was it salvageable after all? "What are you asking me here? Do I believe that we're going to stay together until death do us part?"

"Yes, that basically what I'm asking." Oddly enough his voice sounded much calmer now, but she knew him too well to be fooled into believing that upon uttering those words he truly was that calm. He had been a spy for years, a double agent as a matter of fact, if he wasn't able to mask his true emotions then who could? His controlled tone was just too carefully studied to be anything but a façade.

"I can tell you that I love you and that I want to believe we will last that long, but I can't tell you what lies ahead. Can you?"

"No," he said quietly. Some of his anger seemed to have faded upon her reply. She couldn't help but feel a bit relieved. Maybe it was the fact that she once again managed to think clearly, but suddenly another suspicion dawned on her.

She almost felt embarrassed asking, but now she had to or the thought would torment her for days or possibly weeks. "You were going to…," she cleared her throat nervously, "you weren't considering, well…," the words died in her throat. Her mouth went dry and she suddenly felt parched. Her heart was hammering away inside her chest as if it was about to explode and she felt lightheaded.

"What?" he shot her a bewildered look, doubtlessly noticing her agitation.

"Oh, forget I ever said anything," she made a dismissive gesture with her hand, while she could feel the blood rushing to her face.

"Well, then it would have been better you hadn't started with it in the first place. Now out with it!" he commanded.

Abigail took a deep breath preparing herself as well as possible to making a fool out of herself in front of him. "You were not going to ask me whether I wanted to marry you, were you?" she rushed out quickly.

He looked at her unblinkingly for a couple of seconds. Then looked away, suddenly keenly interested in the way that owl over there in the corner was cleaning its feathers.

"Severus?" she asked doubtfully. When he didn't answer her voice rose a pitch as she repeated his name a bit louder. "Severus?"

"This is not how I imagined things to go…Not at all…A complete catastrophe, that's what this it…Mrs. Abbot that blasted old hag! She's ruined everything with her stupid questions," he muttered more to himself than to her.

Abigail was trying hard to keep the mild cardiac event at bay she would doubtlessly experience in a couple of seconds. She took a couple of calming breath as she tried to come to terms with the fact that person across from her she thought to be too cynical to believe in marriage had just turned out to be a secret romantic who had been considering proposing marriage to her.

"Well, it's best we both forget this topic was ever mentioned," he said, finally looking at her again.

Her eyes widened comically at his words. "What? Are you completely bonkers?" A couple of things occurred to her simultaneously in that precise moment. One of those things was that she actually wanted to be proposed to by him. Another was that what she had said before at the party had been complete and utter rubbish.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you are trying to say..."

"What I'm trying to say is that…," she took a deep breath, "is that…erm…I wouldn't mind actually…that is…"

"Would you kindly refrain from stuttering and form a coherent sentence, woman? It would make this conversation with you so much easier."

"Yes, well, quite right too," Abigail licked her lips nervously. "I wouldn't mind if you proposed to me."

"So you can say no?" he asked humourlessly.

"No, so I can say yes."

He stared at her for a couple of seconds unblinkingly, then attempt to say something, but only ended up opening and closing his mouth a couple of times without any words coming out.

"So does that mean we're engaged now?" she tried to lighten the mood with a joke.

He finally found his voice again. "No, because I would actually have to propose to you for us to be engaged," he corrected her matter-of-factly

"Well, get on with it then," she smiled at him. He smiled one of his rare smiles back at her. She took a step closer to him. He did the same and took her hands in his. For awhile they just stood there and said nothing. They just looked at each other. The only noise was the soft rustle of feathers and the intermittent squawking of the owls.

"Do you want to marry me, Abigail?" he finally said.

"Yes," she answered simply. For despite of all the words that had been said before the answer had always been quite simple and could be given unwaveringly.

They kissed as clumsily and excitedly as teenagers. She smiled against his mouth. He drew her closer to him in a fierce hug that almost lifted her off her feet.


End file.
